Shadows to a Song
by theshadowcat
Summary: His life was filled with silence until a chance encounter with a stranger changed everything. Set before movie & comic. Rated for language and violence. Please read and review.
1. Exposition

**Disclaimer:** Ok, here's the thing, I don't own anything except my characters and that's it. V and the rest of the gang belong to people who hopefully have better things to do than coming after a person who isn't making any money on this.

**Author's note 1:** Hey there, this is my first V for Vendetta story. It may or may not be my last. Depends on my muse really. Updates may be few and far in between since I'm working on 3 other stories right now, so bear with me. This story is set before the movie and before V meets Evey, but don't worry, this will not be my original character getting it on with V. That is my intent and if you see me heading towards the dark side, you have my permission to throw cold water on me and thoroughly beat me with a wet noodle.

**Author's note 2:** Brighton is about 50 miles south of London. For point of reference, a Good Toy is like a Game Boy but is a propaganda tool that uses games to help train the youth of the nation to be good little citizens. I made it up all on my own and it's mine, all mine. At any rate, on with the show.

* * *

A dark figure sits staring at one monitor screen out of several dozen watching the images broadcasted by the hidden camera in the house of a rather prominent military man. The figure doesn't move, his face hidden behind a grinning mask and though the only way to tell that he's alive is steady rise and fall of his chest, there is no doubt that he is staring intently at the monitor before him.

If the figure didn't already have enough reason to hate the man on the monitor, watching him beat his wife is enough to make his blood boil. He would wonder why the woman suffers in silence if he hadn't just finished going over the man's history again. It has taken him many years to reach this point, a lot of research was done and countless hours have gone into watching this one monitor, but now…now V knows everything he needs to know about Michael Oliver Jones.

The file on Jones is easy enough to read. Married to his Brighton born wife Georgia for nearly ten years and with twin eight year old boys, Jones has been making his way up the military ladder for over twenty years now. Singularly intent on his goal to get more power, Jones almost never takes time off for a holiday. The only anomaly to this is when he and his wife went to France for a month after the boys were born. V isn't sure why the fact that while on holiday the wife became ill with a throat infection that permanently damaged her vocal cords rendering her a mute bothers him, but he just shrugs it off and continues to watch his prey.

Tonight V will be one step closer in completing his vendetta and in a small way, this makes V happy. Happy to know that people like Jones will soon join their maker and will no longer be able to hurt innocent people. He will no longer be able to beat a woman whose only crime was making the wrong thing for dinner.

* * *

"Ya better get goin', woman, if ya don't want to get caught out after curfew," Michael growls as he puts his belt back on.

Trembling, Georgia gets to her feet and silently nods. She's had worse beatings, she reminds herself as she shakily makes her way to the bedroom. She takes a couple pain pills, finishes packing, picks up her bag, opting to carry it instead of slinging it over her shoulder and heads out. She whistles up the stairs for the boys and a moment later the thunder of two pairs of running feet can be heard. She starts to head for the door with the boys quickly catching up when she's intercepted by Michael.

"Have a good time at your sister's, honey," he says a bit too cheerily, giving her a hug and squeezing extra hard before turning to the boys. "Now, don't ya two be tormentin' your Aunt Ruth. Ya hear me?"

She refuses to give him the benefit of seeing her wince in pain and he goes to ruffles the hair of the boys.

"Sure thing, Dad," Philip answers with a devilish grin.

"Since when have we ever given Aunt Ruth any bother?" Charles jokingly asks.

"Since always, ya scamps," Michael laughs, though the laughter doesn't reach his eyes. "Ya better get goin'. Ya don't want the Fingermen givin' ya any hassle."

She nods, whistles to the boys again and then points towards the door. The twins are out the door in a heartbeat and she follows them out at a more sedate pace with Michael right behind her. She and the boys stow their luggage in the boot of the auto and the twins quickly climb into the back seat. Michael grabs her and gives her what to the casual observer would seem to be a passionate kiss. As soon as he releases her, she slides behind the wheel, starts the vehicle and pulls away from the curb while the boys wave goodbye to their father. As soon as they're around the corner, she lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

"You ok, Mum?" Philip asks, leaning forward to see her better.

She places her right thumb to her chest, spreading the fingers out and wiggling them, signing that she's 'fine' as she ignores the pain tearing across her back. She lies just like she takes the beatings: to protect them. There's no way she would let that monster lay one hand on them, even if it costs her her own life.

"If you say so, Mum," Philip replies, sitting back in his seat.

He looks at his brother and they share worried glances at each other. They know what's going on, but they know they're helpless to stop it. With one last glance at their mother, they pull out their Good Toys and begin to play. After about fifteen minutes of driving, she looks over into the passenger seat and lets out a sigh of frustration.

"What's the matter, Mum?" Charles asks when he sees they're getting in the right turn lane too early.

First she holds her left hand out and runs the pinky of her right hand over the wrist as if she were cutting the hand off. Then she mimes holding a bag handle in her hand.

"You forgot your handbag again, didn't you, Mum?" Philip teases.

She looks at the boy with a guilty smile and points to the tip of her nose with her finger tip. The boys laugh since it would be a shock if she hadn't forgotten the bloody thing. They head back home unaware that fate has other plans for them this evening.

* * *

It takes him about twenty-five minutes to reach his target's home, leaving his lair only after he was sure the others had left. As silent as smoke, he slips into the building and easily locates his target. Jones is lighting candles in the family room, already finishing in the bedroom and there's a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket next to the couch with a pair of flutes on the table nearby.

Perfect. Jones's lover can find the body and decide what to do with it. If nothing appears on the news by morning, V will simply make an anonymous phone call to alert the authorities.

The wife has been through enough, she doesn't need to find his stinking corpse when she returns on Sunday. And as an added bonus, she has the perfect alibi so that the Fingermen will have to leave her alone. No black bags for a woman who's had enough abuse in her life

Jones lights the last candle and turns around to see a Guy Fawks mask seemingly floating in mid air, causing him to drop the lighter he was using.

"Shit!" the man swears loudly as the shadows reshape themselves into a cloaked man. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him…,"_ V starts to quote, slowly stepping closer to his quarry.

"WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?" Jones repeats, yelling and taking a step back.

"…_and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore," _V continues, ignoring the sound of a car pulling up out front and the engine cutting out.

"**WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"** Jones shouts as he quickly backs towards a side table.

"_But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…," _V purrs, throwing his cloak back over his shoulders and revealing the half dozen silver blades hanging from his side, so intent on his prey that a car door slamming shut never registers on his brain. _"…disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution."_

"**_ANSWER ME!"_**Jones screams as he fumbles with one of the drawers in the table he's backed into.

"_Like valour's minion, carved out his passage…"_ V continues as he stalks closer, only pausing and glancing over his shoulder when he hears the front door open.

Georgia steps into the house, takes one look at the scene before her and gasps. Jones takes advantage of V's distraction and finally gets the drawer open. He pulls out a revolver and levels at the menacing figure before him.

"…_till he faced the slave; which ne'er shook hands…,"_ V resumes, turning his back once more on the woman. _"…nor bade farewell to him."_

In a move that defies logic and quite possibly physics, V disarms Jones in a blink of an eye. One of V's blades quivers in its spot in the wall and Jones clutches at his arm where the knife sliced him causing him to drop his weapon. V moves in, readying to make Jones last moments on Earth the most terrifying in his life.

So intent on his prey that he never sees the vase of flowers coming until it hits him square in the back. More startled than hurt, he turns back towards the woman whose face is a study in fear. He pulls another knife out of its sheath and her eyes get even wider than before. But instead of menacing the woman, he quickly turns back around and sticks the point under Jones's chin stopping the man from bending down to pick up his dropped weapon.

"Ah ah ah," V rumbles low in his throat, forcing Jones to straighten back up. "We shall have none of that."

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Jones hisses through his teeth as fear and hate wage war in his eyes.

"Perhaps I should jog your memory, Lieutenant," V quietly growls, getting face to mask with Jones.

"Lieutenant?" Jones huffs, standing a bit straighter. "I haven't been a lieutenant since…"

"Larkhill," V finishes for him with a snarl and watches with satisfaction as Jones figures it out, his eyes get to be about the size of dinner plates and the blood drains from his face.

"It's you," Jones says, his voice shaking with fear that's quickly headed towards panic. "But that's impossible. You can't be alive. There's no way you could have survived."

"Oh, trust me, I did survive and I am very much alive," V hisses darkly.

"Oh god, you're going to kill me, aren't you?" Jones asks on the verge of wetting himself.

"Oh, yes, I am," V purrs evilly, sounding very pleased.

A slight movement and noise catches V's attention and he turns around and catches the poker from the fireplace in his free hand, mere inches from his head. Georgia's eye get nearly as wide as her husband's with surprise as she stands there holding the other end of the poker. She gives it a tug and he easily yanks it out of her hand, confused by her actions.

Jones takes V's momentary distraction to grab his gun off of the floor and aim it at the shadowy figure before him. Before he can pull the trigger, the poker slams into his arm, sending his shot wild. The bullet ricochets off of the chrome trim of the fireplace as V's blade sheaths itself into Jones's heart.

Two cries of surprise and pain and two bodies hit the floor within seconds of each other. V looks down at Jones and sees a look of surprise permanently written across the dead man's face. Turning, he sees Georgia writhing on the floor, a pool of blood soaking into the light colored carpet as she bites her lip to keep from crying out again. He bends over to try and assess her wound and she suddenly reaches up and grabs the front of his cloak. He instinctively pulls back, dragging her with him and causing her to whimper.

"Is he dead?" she gasps.

"Yes," he automatically answers, startled beyond words as she looks up at him with pleading eyes.

"Kill me," she begs just before she lets go of him and lands on the floor panting.

If he still had hair anywhere on his head, his eyebrows would be merging with his hairline right about now. Not only is a woman who is supposed to be mute talking, but she's talking with an American accent.


	2. Impromptu

The sound of a couple car doors slamming snaps him back to reality and he quickly realizes that the twins must have heard the gunshot. V barely manages to lock the front door seconds before the boys hit it at a full run. A second later they're pounding on the portal and screaming for their mother to answer.

With a swish of his cloak, V goes into the kitchen to get the items he needs to help her. He's watched the house for so long that he is well aware where everything is kept and he swiftly collects what he needs. When he returns to the living room, he finds the woman has dragged herself to her dead husband's side and is currently trying to dislodge the knife from his chest.

"I can assure, madam, that he's quite dead and removing the blade will do no good," V tells her.

She ignores him as she continues her struggle with the lethal weapon. After a few more seconds, she manages to leverage the thing out and blood covers the blade causing her to audibly swallow and her face to pale even further than it had been. Curiosity holds him in place until he sees her starting to turn the knife on herself. In one swift move, he snatches the dagger from her hand and drops it behind him as he kneels down beside her.

"There will be none of that foolishness," he softly reprimands her completely ignoring the fact that the pounding on the front door has ceased.

"Do you have any idea what the Fingermen will do to me if they get their hands on me?" she hisses in combination of pain and anger.

"More than you can possibly imagine, madam," he replies as he easily lifts her and moves her closer to a lamp.

Fortunately, Jones hadn't gotten around to turning off the electric lights when V interrupted him and he sets her down on the couch, ignoring her wiggling to get away from him. He flips her over when he can't find any sign of the wound on her front or sides. He smirks under his mask when he finds that the bullet has lodge itself into her backside.

"I certainly hope this is not a sign of things to come," he states a bit jovially as he presses the dishtowels to the wound and starts trying to tie the compress to her even though she's struggling to get away. "Madam, please hold still. I will not end your life and will not let the Fingermen get their hands on you."

"Why?" she asks in a soft southern drawl as she ceases her struggles.

"I've been wondering that myself," he answers as he ties the makeshift compress to her derrière. "Suffice it to say, for the time being, you're safer with me than at your 'sister's' house."

"The boys," she whimpers, leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

"Will be sent to their aunt," he assures her.

"How…?" she starts to question.

"The government will not spend the money to raise children if they can be foisted off on a relative," he interrupts as he goes to collect his knives and she starts to struggle to get upright. "Stay still."

She immediately goes motionless as he wipes the blood off of his blades and sheaths them once more. After leaving a red rose on top of Jones, he pulls off his cape and wraps her up in it. He easily lifts her and heads for the back just as sound of the first siren reaches their ears. He's out the door and across the backyard in a blink of an eye and opens the back gate only to be confronted by an identical pair of boys.

"What are you doing with our mum?" the first one demands as he reaches for her.

Instead of answering, V muscles his way past the twins and starts to run at a speed that shouldn't be possible for an unburdened man, much less one who's carrying a full grown woman. The twins try to give chase, yelling at V to stop, but they are easily out distanced in a matter of seconds and a short time later the shouting discontinues as well. He moves quickly and silently, ignoring the trembling body in his arms until they finally reach the safety of the underground tunnels he normally traverses. Once there, he looks down and sees tears traveling down her cheeks.

"Is the pain that bad?" he asks, not slowing his pace and barely even breathing heavily.

She only shakes her head 'no' but says nothing else. He registers this in his brain but just continues on their journey, neither speeding it up nor slowing down. By the time they reach his home, the tears have stopped but a sadness remains in her eyes. He's just glad they made it back without incident and without her bleeding to death.

He shoulders his way past the door and then stops dead in the main entry way into his home. Normally he would simply retire to the kitchen and bandage his wounds there, but this time is different. Quite a bit different in fact.

Where to put her? He could put her on the couch, but the lighting in there is poor for what he needs to do. The lighting is good here, but the only place to put her is on the floor. Not exactly conducive to cleaning a wound and not inviting infection in.

That leaves only one place and while the thought greatly displeases him, he sees no other alternative. With a few bold strides, he's through another door, down the hall and through one final door. Once he reaches his goal, he very carefully lowers her onto his bed and quickly rolls her onto her stomach. She lets out a small gasp of pain, but other than that, she makes no sound and doesn't move.

"Wait here, I'll be back," he says as he straightens up and heads for the door.

He goes and collects the medical items he'll need and returns to the bedroom to find she hasn't moved. He's rather surprised to see that she hasn't at least attempted to free herself of his cloak, but he supposes that since she's lying on the edges that she probably tried to free herself and was unable. After placing the tray with the medical supplies on the nightstand, he carefully removes her from her cocoon but leaves the cloak under her to protect the bedding from her blood.

The first order of business is getting a better look at the wound so he removes the compress, picks up a pair of scissors and then begins to cut his way up her slacks. He notices the muscles tense, but other than that she voices no objection to the destruction of her clothes. As soon as the pants and panties have been cut away, he peels them back to reveal the one buttock and leg. There is evidence of old beatings if the multitude of scars is any indication and he wishes he could kill Jones all over again but this time much more slowly.

He carefully checks and it's evident that the bullet is still lodged inside the muscle. He thanks whatever god might be listening that the bullet had ricocheted instead of being a direct shot. Had the bullet taken the direct route into her body she would most likely be dead now.

He looks up at her face and sees her watching him with a combination of sadness and fear in her eyes. She quickly averts her eyes when she notices him looking back at her as she convulsively swallows. Her breath is fast and shallow as her body trembles in what he assumes must be pain.

"I will give you a shot for the pain," he tells her as he picks up a bottle and a syringe. "You may not want to watch. The bullet is still in there and must be removed. This will sting a bit."

She gives a little snort of mirth before turning her head to look away as he administers the shot. While he waits for the drug to take effect, he readies the other instruments he will need. He glances briefly up at her again before he starts and is a bit startled by the fact that she's still trembling and her breathing is still irregular. He assumes that since that her entire world has been turned upside down in just under an hour and she watched as her husband was murdered, that her reaction is understandable.

"Can you feel this?" he asks as he pokes at the skin near the wound and she shakes her head now. "Good. I'm going to remove the bullet now."

He checks to make sure she is not watching, removes his leather gloves and replaces them with a pair of surgical gloves. He then turns his attention to removing the bullet. His world shrinks down to the extraction of the offensive object and he's not sure how much time goes by until at long last he sutures up the wound. After he bandages the abused area, he pulls off the medical gloves and tosses them onto the tray with the rest of the equipment and then replaces his more familiar leather gloves, feeling the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax once they're on.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

She doesn't respond, instead she slightly rolls onto her left side, places her right thumb against her chest and wiggles her fingers. He tilts his head at her curious response and she glances at him, quickly looking away as she lies back down on her front.

"Fine," she whispers and a shiver runs through her body.

"Good," he states as he pulls out another bottle and syringe. "I'm going to give you a shot of antibiotics. When I'm done, I want you to get some rest."

She doesn't respond and as he gives her the injection, she lies there passively. He's curious as to her silence, but he passes off as the shock and trauma of the evening. He gets her situated in his bed and then leaves the room with the tray and blood soaked cloak and compress, turning off the lights as he goes. When he checks in on her a while later, she's sound asleep and with a nod of satisfaction, he leaves to go run an errand.

* * *

She wakes the next morning in a strange bed, in a strange room and to make matters even worse, there's a strange man sleeping on top of the covers next to her in the bed. The smell of antiseptic, musty books and leather registers on her brain as the events from earlier come rushing to the forefront of her mind. She buries her face in her pillow and silently cries as she remembers the looks on the faces of the twins when she last saw them, knowing that she'll never see them again. After the tears run out, she just lies there feeling miserable, face down in the pillow.

"Drink," he says, startling her.

She gives a little jump and the gasp of surprise turns into a whimper of pain. He's standing next to the bed holding a glass of water and she's not too surprised that she never noticed him getting out of the bed or even turn on the light. She finally takes a good look at him while she takes the glass from him and starts to drink while trying to make it appear that she's not staring.

He's dressed as he was before, all in black with a wig and a Guy Fawks mask on, though the knives, cloak and hat are nowhere to be seen. When it appears that he's watching her as intently, she quickly looks away and finishes her water. When she's done, he takes the glass and sets it on the nightstand.

"Are you in pain?" he asks.

She nods as she lies there trying to ignore the fact that it feels like her backside is on fire. She thought she was used to pain, but no beating ever felt like this, like someone was jabbing a red hot poker into her body. She trembles as the pain seems to grow and spread throughout her body now that she's acknowledged its existence.

"I will get you something for the pain in a moment," he tells her. "I want to take a look at your injury so please hold still."

She silently does as she's told while he flips back the covers and examines his work. He gives a sad sigh at what he finds and then pulls the bedding back over her body. She lies there, ignoring a rather inconvenient demand of her body as he straightens up and picks up the glass.

"I'm going to give you another shot of antibiotics," he informs her, finding it curious that she won't look at his face for more than a few seconds at a time. "I will back momentarily."

She listens to him leave the room and once she's sure he's gone, she flips her pillow over so she's no longer resting on the wet spot. Then she takes a look around the room that she's in while she waits. She hopes to find a clue to…she's not sure what.

She first takes note of the large bed she's in. It's a four poster bed made of what looks to be mahogany, obviously very old since that tree has been extinct for nearly twenty years. The dresser and nightstands are made of the same wood and seem to be part of a set. They're also the most normal things about the room.

There are books everywhere piled up to near the ceiling, boxes are stacked almost haphazardly in one of the corners and there are what appear to be several pieces of artwork leaning against a wall as if waiting to be hung. Bare wires are hung along the stone ceiling and walls and that's obviously where the power for the lights is coming from. But the strangest and quite possibly the most disturbing thing about the room is that there are no windows. This can mean only one thing. They're underground and she will probably never see the sun again.

He watches her from the shadow of the door way as she looks around his room. When she's done giving the place the once over, she gives a sad sigh and lies her head back down on the pillow. He steps fully into the room making sure she hears him this time but all she does is give him a quick glance before going back to staring into space. She's obviously depressed, but he finds it understandable.

He places the syringes on the nightstand and then flips back the covers again. He quickly gives her the injections before covering her up again and she sighs with relief as the pain medication begins to do its job. He leaves only to return a minute later with her bag in hand which causes her eyebrows to rise.

"I was able to get your luggage before the authorities could take it away," he tells her as he puts the bag down on the floor next to her. "I would suggest that you not wear slacks until your injury has healed. I imagine that at this point you have need of the lavatory. Am I correct?"

She simply nods her response and he lets out a puff of air as he's getting a bit frustrated with her silence.

"I will help you to the facilities," he states.

He again exposes her to the air as he pulls back the covers and starts to gently pull her out of the bed. She struggles to her feet and almost immediately collapses as the pain shoots through her body. Fortunately, he had no intention of letting her go so she never makes it to the floor. He picks up her bag and then leads her into the bathroom, where he leaves her.

"Take your time, but do not attempt to bathe just yet," he instructs as he's shutting the door. "Your stitches need time to heal before you can get them wet. I will be back shortly to help you back to bed."

She nods her understanding and he finally closes the door. Leaning heavily on the sink, she makes her way to the toilet and finally relieves the pressure in her bladder with a sigh of relief. Once she's done, she struggles to stand up, leaving her ruined slacks and panties on the floor for now. She never realized what a pleasure sitting comfortably could be. Unfortunately, it's a luxury that she will not be seeing anytime soon thanks to that bullet.

She hobbles over to the sink and assesses the damage done by crying and sleeping with her makeup still on. Frightening doesn't even begin to cover it. She digs around in her bag and comes out with her toiletry bag. After washing her face, she contemplates reapplying the makeup but changes her mind when she remembers that she will probably be spending a lot of time lying on her stomach and makeup is a pain to get out of sheets.

After replacing the smaller bag in the larger one, she digs around until she can find the only thing that won't interfere with her injury. She slips into her pajama top and forgoes putting on the bottoms or fresh panties since he probably wouldn't want them on her anyways. She realizes she doesn't know this man's name, and somehow, this doesn't bother her at all. Names don't matter to a person like her. As she stuffs everything back into her bag with the exception being her ruined clothing, there's a knock on the door that makes her jump.

"Are you finished?" he asks through the door and she responds with a short whistle. "I do not speak whistle, madam."

"Sorry," she quietly mumbles after opening the door with her ruined clothes under her arm and her bag in hand.

"Leave those things," he instructs pulling the bloodied clothing from her and she puts the bag down. "I will throw these away. Now, let us get you back to bed. You will need your rest."

She quietly lets him lead her back to bed to find that he's changed the sheets. He helps her back into the bed, ignoring the fact that she's only wearing a shirt that comes down to her waist. He questions her morality a bit since she doesn't seem to have any shame in this fact, but then, his morality might be left in question as well, so who is he to talk.

"I must leave for a while," he tells her as she settles down under the sheets. "I've placed some food on the nightstand should you get hungry. Other than to use the restroom, I want you to stay in bed. Is that understood?"

She nods and with a slight frown no one can see, he exits the room. A short time later she can hear a distant door shut and with a sad sigh, she settles down to rest as instructed. Memories of when her life started to go all wrong and she quickly stuffs them into the back of her mind. She refuses to think, she refuses to remember and after a while she gladly slips back into unconsciousness. For in her dreams is the only place where she is truly free.


	3. Deceptive cadence

He stands in front of the closet scowling beneath his mask at the clothes hanging in front of him. It's almost as if they're taunting him for going through all of the trouble of getting here. What kind of woman doesn't own at least one skirt, especially in the middle of spring?

A woman who needs to hide the bruises and welts inflicted on her by her 'husband' on a daily basis, that's who, he reminds himself. He lets out a frustrated puff of air as the image of her scarred legs reinserts itself to the forefront of his mind. With one final glare at the long pants and long sleeved blouses, V turns with a flick of his cloak and goes to search the rest of the house.

There must be clues to this woman's real identity somewhere. There has to be something somewhere. He's sure of it.

So he searches. For nearly an hour he scours the place from the basement to the attic. He comes up empty in all of the regular places and even the irregular places people hide things of value. The biggest disappointment, but not the biggest surprise, has to be Jones's office.

Hidden beneath the desk is the safe built into the floor. Unfortunately, the police got to it first and the safe is completely empty by the time V reaches it. Another frustrated puff of air and he continues to hunt for even the smallest crumb. Below the twins' beds, in the tanks of the toilets and even behind the headboard of the bed in the guest bedroom, all are equally unproductive, not even so much as a dust bunny can be found.

His ire growing, he heads to the attic. It's obvious from the second V sticks his head through the trap door and looks around in the dim moon light that filters through the suspiciously clean window at the other end of the small space that the police have already been here. With a small hope that they missed something, he methodically goes through the hastily pawed at boxes.

He finds mementos and nick-knacks, clippings from the boys' first hair cut, an award from school for second place in a spelling contest and a miniature Eiffel Tower are among the forgotten items left up here. Then in the darkest corner he finds the strangest thing of all.

Cleverly hidden in plain sight is a false wall. V's innate ability to perfectly eye distances is how he notices that the attic as about a meter shorter than the rest of the house. After several minutes of meticulous searching, he finally pulls back a couple panels of wood.

Pulling out a small torch, he waves the beam around the dark tiny space. All that's secreted away in there is a guitar case. Very carefully, he pulls the case from its hiding spot and opens it after returning the torch to its normal resting place. Not surprisingly, there's a guitar in there along with several sheets of music and an extra set of strings. There's virtually no dust on the case indicating that someone in the house knows of the instrument's existence and more than likely has even been playing it.

Perhaps his 'guest' will know more about it. And if not, it will make a nice addition to his collection. He's sure he can find a book on guitar playing with little effort if it's not already in his library.

He carefully replaces the removed panels, closes the guitar back in its case and prepares to leave with his prize. Something catches his attention on the edge of his peripheral vision and he turns to investigate further. A silver picture frame peeks out from behind a box that's shoved against the wall, the edge glowing in the moonlight. Curiosity gets the better of him, and unlike that unfortunate feline, he exposes a picture with no ill effects. It's a photograph of Jones and his wife on their wedding day, both looking blissfully happy.

The miniature torch comes out again and V gets a good look at the woman who married that monster. He stares at the picture for several minutes memorizing the smiling woman's face with her brown hair and eyes. While he finds the answer to one question, so many more questions spin around in his head.

The woman in the photo is not the same woman who's currently residing in his bed, of that he can be sure, though the resemblance is uncanny and to a casual observer they could be mistaken as twins. But where is the real Georgia Jones? Who is this other woman? How did a woman from the south eastern area of the former United States come to be living in London? And why was she pretending to Jones's wife?

He stares at the picture for a few moments longer, but is no closer to getting his answers. The only one who can do that is currently keeping his bed warm. Without another sound, he turns off the torch, stows it and then returns the photograph to where he found it.

Moments later, he's slipping out of the house and past the policeman stationed to watch the place. V leaves the man unmolested since he doesn't want to alert anyone to the fact that he had returned to the house. As quietly as a breeze and as quick as moonlight, V departs.

* * *

Despite the burdens he carries, V returns to the tubes with relative ease just as the first hints of dawn start to lighten the sky. He enters his home half expecting his mystery woman to be wandering around despite his instructions. Instead, there is the usual silence that he normally associates with home. 

He stores the medical supplies he 'acquired' earlier in the evening before pulling out a pair of syringes and a couple bottles. Picking up the guitar case, he heads for his bedroom.

The first thing he notices when he steps into the room is that the food and drink have been consumed. This eases his mind a bit until he hears the sound of teeth chattering that is both startling and worrisome. Looking at the shape in the bed he can see that the covers are over her head and her form is shivering.

He's beside the bed in a few quick strides and all he can see of her is her mouth and nose. He has to pull and tug the covers free as she's completely cocooned them around her body. She doesn't fight or complain, but she's not helping either and as soon as he has her free, he understands why.

She's nearly unconscious and despite all of the shaking and the sudden rush of cold air, she barely even opens her eyes. He checks her injury and finds that it's badly infected which accounts for her obvious fever. The guitar lies forgotten off to the side of the room as he rushes out of there to get the rest of the medical supplies.

* * *

Three days. Three days of virtually no sleep caring for a person whose name he doesn't even know. Three days of draining puss out of her wound and cleaning it. Three days of trying to make sure she was getting fluids and then carrying her to the bathroom every couple hours. 

But the fever has finally broken and the infection is gone, so now she can stop cuddling against him for warmth. That was pretty startling when he tried to get some rest only to wake to find a shivering body pressed against him. After shoving her away a number of times only to have her scoot back a few minutes later, he finally realized that she wasn't consciously seeking him out. She was just so cold she was seeking out the only external source of heat in the bed: him.

All the time and effort he's put in caring for her for the past few days has left him exhausted. If his curiosity about her wasn't thoroughly piqued, he would be second guessing himself about his motives. This woman is an enigma, and one thing that he's never been able to let lie besides his vengeance, is a puzzle.

With a tired sigh he leans against the wall waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. After three days the woman was getting a little…ripe, so now she's taking a sponge bath. He supposes he'll have to help her wash her hair, but that can wait for now.

The sound of the water gently trickling in the tub nearly lulls him to sleep while he's standing up. Only a small section of his mind even notices when the water gets turned up for about a minute and then everything goes silent. When the door finally opens, he's fully alert and staring at his 'patient'.

She's cleaned up and even managed to wash her hair on her own, for which he is thankful. She's wearing clean clothes including a skirt that he managed to get from one of Sutler's warehouses during her illness. She glances up at him, gives a little smile and then immediately looks down at the floor. He sees her eyes for only the briefest of moments, but that quick look has him concerned.

"Look at me," he instructs.

He puts his finger under her chin and gently guides her face to look up at him. Her head moves willingly, but still her eyes look down. He waits patiently and several seconds later she finally complies and looks at him. Moments later she's looking down again and a shudder runs through her body, but he's seen enough to confirm that tiny red veins web throughout the whites of her eyes in irritation all around her brown irises and releases her chin.

"How well can you see without your contacts in?" he asks.

"Ok," she replies in a small voice.

"Then go take them out," he orders and she immediately goes back into the bathroom.

A minute later, she returns intently staring at the floor. Again, he guides her face to look up at him and it takes her even longer to cast him a quick glance before looking down again. She doesn't pull away, but she starts trembling in earnest and it takes him a moment to get over his shock.

"Do you need those contacts to see at all?" he inquires.

She shakes her head 'no' and an exasperated puff of air escapes through the mask.

"I don't want to see you wearing them again unless I say so," he demands. "Is that understood?"

She nods a 'yes' and lets out a quiet sigh of relief. She never did like those blasted things anyways. It always felt like she was poking herself in the eye when she put them in or took them out.

"Come, let's get you back to bed," he says as he offers her his arm.

She takes the appendage and they very slowly make their way down the hall.

"Did Jones make you wear those contacts?" he questions after only a few steps and she nods again. "Why did you continue wearing them after I brought you here?"

"Habit," she whispers with a shrug.

"Ah," he replies.

They finish their journey in silence and by the time they make it back to the bed, she's shaking with exhaustion. He helps her back into bed and she shifts around until she's comfortable as one can get with a hole in one's butt. He leaves as soon as she's settled and returns a short time later with more fluids for her to drink.

"I want you to get some more rest," he tells her as he places a pitcher of water on the nightstand while he hands her a glass. "You may get up to use the restroom, but otherwise I want you to stay in this bed."

She quietly nods, quickly finishes her drink, puts the glass next to the pitcher, still not quite looking at him and snuggles up with the pillow. He watches as she closes her now green eyes and her breathing becomes slow and regular. While her actions are puzzling, a more compliant patient he couldn't have asked for. He turns off the light and then climbs into his bed next to her on top of the covers.

He's not used to sleeping fully dressed, much less having to share his bed. With an exhausted sigh, he closes his eyes but it's some time before he sleeps. By the time unconsciousness does claim him, he has everything planned out.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a little shorter than what I normally write, but this seemed like a good place to stop. As I hinted at before, my muse is a little crazy and she needs to be fed a regular diet of reviews. No reviews means that there won't be any more chapters. So please, feed the muse. 


	4. Interlude

"I just got the lab report on the Jones case," Dominic Stone announces as he walks into the office he shares with Chief Inspector Eric Finch.

"Good," the older man sighs while Dominic drops the report in front of him. "Maybe now we'll get some answers."

"I doubt it," Dominic cautions as he plops down into his desk chair. "The blood under Jones's body was his, but the trail of blood that leads up to his body and that's on the sofa isn't. Since Jones was military his wife's blood is on record along with her finger prints. That being said, the blood found on the floor and sofa is not his wife's."

"Then the blood must be the murderer's," Finch concludes.

"You'd think so," Dominic cautions. "Now here's where it gets weird, hair samples we got out of the wife's brush matches the DNA in the blood. Fingerprints lifted from the house consist of Jones, the twins and an unknown party."

"The murderer's?" Finch asks hopefully.

"I don't think so," Dominic answers. "The boys said that the man who kidnapped their mother was big, about six feet tall and he was wearing gloves. The prints that were lifted are either those of a woman or a child that stands about five and a half feet tall. Plus, these prints were found all over the house in every room including the attic. I ran the unknown prints through the computer and it come up empty. Who ever left those prints, was never fingerprinted."

"But everyone has to be fingerprinted once they turn a year old," Finch mutters, his mind trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

"I know," Dominic replies. "So either this person fell through the cracks somehow or…"

"Or they're not from England," Finch finishes leaning back in his chair as Dominic nods his agreement.

Both men sit there trying to figure out what this new evidence means. After a few minutes, Finch sighs in disgust and turns back to the papers he was going through before Dominic had come in. The papers came from Jones' safe and have the usual items in it: last will and testament, passports, other sensitive material and the strangest piece of paper of all.

"This is interesting," Finch muses.

"What is?" Dominic asks, looking up from his work.

"He owns a horse," Finch answers, staring at the piece of paper in his hand. "A nine year old brood mare named Audrey Meadows."

"The military life must be paying him well," Dominic states. "Horses are bloody well expensive animals to keep. Not to mention all of the restrictions on them. More bother than their worth, if you ask me."

"Something's not right," Finch mumbles.

"What's not right?" Dominic inquires.

"I'm not sure," Finch replies as he suddenly stands up and grabs his coat. "I want to go look at the house again. Come on."

* * *

After enduring about a half hour of Dominic's driving, they arrive at the scene of the crime. They identify themselves to the officer stationed there and go inside. Finch goes into the house and immediately heads for the room Jones was murdered in.

Instead of looking at the blood on the floor and sofa or the slit in the wall where it's possible a knife was stabbed into it or the ding in the chrome trim around the fireplace where it's likely the bullet ricocheted off of or even the bloody 'V' on the carpet made by the murder weapon being laid there, he looks at the shelves of knick-knacks and pictures on one side of the room. Dominic looks around and sees the burnt out candles, an ice bucket filled with water with an unopened bottle of champagne in it and a pair of champagne flutes. He wanders into the master bedroom and finds more burnt out candles in there as well as the master bathroom.

"Curious isn't it?" Finch asks quietly nearly scaring Dominic right out of his socks.

"What? The candles?" Dominic counter questions.

"Yeah, the wife and kids are going to her sister's for the weekend," Finch points out. "Yet he's here lighting candles and chilling champagne."

"A mistress," Dominic puts in, his eyes lighting up. "Maybe it's her blood on the sofa and the hair brush was hers, not the wife's."

"Could be," Finch mutters. "But something's still not right."

"Which would be?" Dominic prompts.

"Well, for one thing, where is she?" Finch questions. "She was shot and bleeding, yet her blood is only found in the family room, no where else and we would have been informed if someone had gone to the hospital with a gunshot wound. We haven't found the bullet so it must be in her. Where did she go?"

"Yeah, that is strange," Dominic replies, sighing with a bit of frustration.

"Then there's the matter of the horse," Finch continues.

"What about it?" Dominic asks.

"Do you see anything around here that says that there's a horse lover in the house?" Finch inquires and Dominic looks around the bedroom. "There are no pictures, no horse statues, nothing. My sister loved horses when she was a kid and there were horses everywhere in her room. Yet here, there's nothing."

"Maybe it was an investment or a gift," Dominic suggests.

"Then who did he give it to?" Finch questions. "And if he's using the animal to breed, where is it? When we get back, I want you to find that horse."

"Yes, sir," Dominic answers as they head for the door a feeling of dread coming over him.

* * *

Somewhere deep below the streets of London a man wearing all black and a Guy Fawks mask sits and watches a monitor. Out of the dozens of monitors, only this one has the sound turned up. V watches the two detectives as they go through the Jones' house and discuss their plans as they look for any clues. Eventually they leave and after he's sure they're gone, he gets up, glad that he put the motion sensor on the camera to let him know when someone is in the house.

As he returns to the main area of his home, he mulls over what little he's learned. A horse is a very interesting thing for a military man to own, especially since he barely ever had time for his family. Very interesting indeed.

On the way back to his room he looks in on his 'guest.' It took him the better part of a day to mostly clean out this storage room and turn it into a bedroom. The furniture doesn't exactly match, but it serves its function. A full sized bed takes up a portion of the floor, though the books still in here are by far taking up most of the floor space. A dressing mirror and chest are next to the bed while a floor lamp and an overhead light fixture give the room its light.

He looks at the figure in the bed and she's curled up in a ball with her back to the door. By the slow steady breathing he can tell she's asleep again. He's surprised by how much she sleeps, but he supposes her body must need it in order to heal. Stepping around the end of the bed to look at her face he can see that she's cried herself to sleep again.

He's not sure why this is. He's saved her from the Fingerman and a husband that beat her within an inch of her life almost every day. She should be grateful for being rescued, not being so melodramatic. With a frustrated puff of air, he wishes she'd just tell him what's wrong, but he can't seem to get more than two or three words in a row out of her.

But staring at her will not answer his questions and there is work to be done. He flicks off the lights on the way out and leaves the door ajar to allow some light in as he exits. Maybe tomorrow he'll finally get a name out of her.

* * *

A couple days later, Finch comes into the office to find that Dominic got in before him, a bit of a surprise, but not completely unheard of. As Finch shrugs out of his jacket, Dominic hangs up the phone he had been talking on and turns to his superior.

"Well, I've checked with every stable within a twenty mile radius of London," Dominic starts without even so much as a 'hello.' "Not a one of them has a brood mare stabled there named Audrey Meadows."

"Hmm, maybe he did give the horse away," Finch ponders as he sits down in his seat. "But why hold onto the ownership papers?"

"Maybe the horse died?" Dominic suggests.

"Maybe," Finch muses. "But something tells me there's more to this horse than meets the eye."

"Like what?" Dominic asks.

"I'm not sure," Finch answers. "It's just a feeling."

Dominic says nothing, but he knows that sometimes the old man's feelings are better than any evidence that can be dug up by normal means.

"Has the Finger gotten back to us on whether or not the house was monitored?" Finch asks, startling Dominic out of his reverie.

"No, but I doubt they'd tell us if they did," Dominic answers.

"That's true," Finch sighs and they sit in silence for several long moments. "Do you think the boys told us everything?"

"I'm not sure, but they did seem a bit jumpy," Dominic replies as he picks up the phone. "Of course that could be that they'd just seen their mother kidnapped and were the ones that found their father's body."

"I think I'd like to talk to them again," Finch states as he leans back in his chair. "I want you to go through the registry of horse breeders and see if you can find where that horse came from."

"Why the concern for the horse?" Dominic asks, already sick of the animal.

"I don't know, I just feel like it's important," Finch answers. "Get started on that. I'm going to call the aunt and arrange an interview with those boys again."

* * *

The following afternoon finds Finch standing in the Jones's family room. He stands there staring at the blood stains on the floor and sofa hoping for some inspiration. Dominic walks in and waits for the older man to acknowledge him.

"Find anything?" Finch asks wearily, not bothering to turn around.

"Nothing," Dominic answers. "I've checked every record of every horse born in the past ten years in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. There are no records of a filly by the name of Audrey Meadows. I did a search on the name too and all I came up with is an American actress that died in 1996."

"Another dead end," Finch sighs. "I just came from talking to the kids."

"Any luck there?" Dominic asks.

"A bit," Finch replies as he finally turns around. "Did you get a list of people who might want to see Jones dead?"

"Yeah, but I don't think we can interview them all," Dominic responds.

"Why not?" Finch questions.

"Let's just say if we brought them all in for questioning, they'd have to form a double line around the block," Dominic replies. "Jones wasn't exactly Mr. Popular."

"Not even with his own family," Finch mutters. "According to the boys, Jones beat their mother on a regular basis. They said she tried to hide it from them, but they knew. He beat his wife, cheated on her and now I've got to try and find his murderer and bring him to justice. Seems like I should be giving the guy a medal, not a pair of handcuffs."

"So what do we do now?" Dominic inquires.

"Well, lets look at what we know," Finch answers after a few seconds. "First, he beats his wife and then sends her and the kids off to her sister's for the weekend. Once they're gone, he starts getting things ready for his mistress. Part way to her sister's house, Georgia finds she's left her handbag at home, something that seems to happen on a regular basis according to the kids. Now at some point a man gets into the house, possibly the husband of the mistress. There's no sign of forced entry so either the guy is a professional thief or he was let in. Georgia returns and she comes back into the house and finds Jones, the husband and the mistress in the family room. There's a struggle between Jones and the husband, Jones fires his gun, but it's deflected by the fire poker the husband has causing the shot to go wild and the mistress gets hit by the bullet. Then the husband stabs Jones and kidnaps Georgia, nearly running the boys down as he escapes."

"But what happened to the mistress?" Dominic asks. "And why kidnap Georgia?"

"Damn good questions," Finch replies. "According to the boys, they heard the gunshot, got out of the car and ran for the front door. They found it locked so they tried to get their mother to answer it by banging on it for a minute. When that failed, they went around back where they meet up with a man all in black carrying their mother wrapped up in some black blanket. It's dark out so they don't get a clear look at his face, though they're pretty sure he was wearing some type of mask."

"Maybe the mistress escaped out the front while everyone else was in the back," Dominic suggests.

"Then she would have had to lock the door behind her," Finch states. "After giving chase to the kidnapper, they lose him, come back to the house and find their father. A minute later the police show up because one of the neighbors called saying she heard gunshots. When the boys opened the front door, it was still locked."

"Window?" Dominic guesses.

"They were all shut as tight as a drum," Finch sighs. "I'm stumped."

"What about the horse?" Dominic asks.

"I'm not sure," Finch mutters. "But I have a feeling that somehow, someway, they're all connected."

Dominic holds his peace as Finch gives the room one last look, then with a nod of the head, he leaves the house. Dominic trails along behind him wondering what could possibly be going through his bosses mind. The door is shut and the house is left in silence once more.

* * *

V watches the monitor for a minute more to be sure that the detectives have truly gone. Something about this Inspector Finch has grabbed the vigilante's attention. He's not sure how just yet, but Finch may be useful in the coming year and a half.

With a graceful ease that would make a cat look like a klutz, V rises from his chair and heads for his new guest bedroom, his cloak gently billowing behind him. For a change, she's awake, though she's lying on her side with her back to the door, she's propped up on one elbow as she reads a book. She turns enough to look at him from the corner of her eye before she bows her head down and casts her gaze to the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" V asks.

"Fine, thank you," she replies in a voice that's barely above a whisper.

"Are you hungry?" he questions stepping further into the room.

"No," she whispers this time as she can feel her heart race.

"I must beg your pardon," he states. "I'm afraid that with your injury and illness that I have been totally remiss in introducing myself."

"That's ok," she mumbles.

"Voilà!" he nearly yells causing her to jump as he matches body moves to his words. "In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition." He pauses for effect as the lady's jaw hangs open. "The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."

Upon the completion of his soliloquy, he takes a deep bow. She stares at him with wide eyes for at least thirty seconds before her brain can work her mouth and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"You've been practicin' that for a long time, haven't you?"

She suddenly realizes what she's done and blushes furiously as she quickly looks down at the floor. He chuckles at her remark, glad to have finally gotten more than only a few words out of her. He steps up the bed and then with a flip of his cloak, he perches on the edge of the mattress.

"Now, who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of speaking too?" he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"Georgia," she automatically answers and starts trembling again.

"Is it now?" he says, making it more statement than question as he tilts his head further.

"Yes," she hisses, blinking furiously to try and stop the tears.

"Very well then," he states, quickly realizing that pressing the issue will only upset her more. "Is there anything you need?"

"No," she breathes as she shakes her head.

"If you need anything, I will be in the kitchen," he states as he stands up. "Don't hesitate to seek me out if you change your mind."

With a swish of his cloak, he's out the door. Once she's sure he's gone, she lets the tears come and soaks her pillow once more. Despite her efforts, the sound easily carries down the hall to his ears. Perplexed, he listens for a moment before he lets out a frustrated puff of air and continues his journey.

* * *

**Author's note:** Feed the muse, leave a review. 


	5. Pizzicato

Two weeks since he brought her here and what does he know about her? She's definitely from the South Eastern area of the former United States. When she does talk, and that's rarely, the accent is impossible to miss. Her eyes are green and if the roots of her growing out tresses are any indication, her hair is red, not brown.

It's been two weeks of caring for her and V is no closer to finding out this woman's real name than Finch is to finding V. He's frustrated by her stubborn refusal to stop calling herself Georgia. He lets out an aggravated puff of air as he lets the knife fly, landing square in the forehead of his target dummy.

With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and finds his center once more. He opens his eyes and then goes about cleaning up his play room. After more than three hours of venting his frustrations on practice dummies, he's no closer to any answers.

It takes him nearly an hour to set the room to rights and once he's done he heads for the bathroom to clean up. A shower, clean clothes and a hot meal will make him feel better, physically at least. A workout with real opponents will do his soul a world of good, so he decides that after dinner, he will go and find himself some…playmates.

As he crosses through the main part of Gallery, he sees she's still sitting where he left her nearly four hours ago. It doesn't look like she has moved so much as an inch from that spot on the couch. The movie he put in for her to watch must have ended a couple hours ago and now it's showing the government's version of the news.

"Have you been sitting there this whole time?" he asks, already knowing the answer and hating it.

"Yes, sir," she replies softly, wiping her face as discreetly as she can.

"Have you had anything to eat?" he questions, barely controlling his anger. "Have you used the bathroom?"

"No, sir," she quietly answers and he can see her starting to tremble again.

"Go use the facilities and then I want you to come right back here," he orders.

"Yes, sir," she responds as she bolts off of the couch and dashes down the hall to the bathroom.

He stares at the TV as it shows commercials on how to be 'better' English men and women, followed the 'latest' gizmo or gadget that people can't possibly live without and finally the 'best' laundry detergent guaranteed to get your clothes spotless. He casually wonders how that last one would work on blood, but then, since he wears mostly dark colors, it's not really a problem. He picks up the remote just as he hears her foot steps returning and the news comes back on.

"And to recap our top stories this evening," June announces to the camera. "The man who murdered Major Michael Oliver Jones and kidnapped his wife Georgia is still at large. Anyone with information to either the murderer or Mrs. Jones is asked to contact authorities at once. The price of water coupons will be going up again…"

V turns off the set while noting that she's two steps behind him and off to the left again, a habit of hers that's really starting to get on his nerves. He turns and looks at her, but she refuses to return his gaze as she stares at nothing just below eye level. He quickly reins his annoyance in, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"Have you been watching the news since the movie ended?" he inquires.

"No, sir," she answers. "The Dietrich Show."

"Did you enjoy watching Mr. Dietrich?" he asks as he steps in front of her so that she at least has to stare at his chest.

"Dietrich was funny," she replies, staring at the stitching on his vest. "News was depressing."

"Yes, it must be…interesting to see 'yourself' in the news like that," he muses.

"They interviewed the twins," she states so quietly that he almost doesn't hear it.

He's speechless at this revelation and watches her in silence as she looks down at his boots. She's trembling and her ragged breathe tells him that she's trying to fight back the tears again. A dim little light of comprehension dawns on him about her obvious depression.

"You miss them," he states.

"Yes, sir" she whispers in a hissed out breath.

"I'm sorry," he sighs as he steps closer to her. "I can't allow you to see them again. The risk is too great."

She hugs herself as a sob wracks her body and her legs can no longer hold her weight. He grabs her to prevent her from falling to the floor and then guides her to the couch. He gets her to sit down and then goes and retrieves one of the boxes of facial tissues he had to acquire for her along with other essential items that are required when a sexually mature female suddenly moves into a bachelor's home. She takes the offered box and silently weeps as her shoulder length hair makes a curtain around her face.

He heads for the kitchen to start dinner and to allow her some privacy. When he returns with the waste paper basket in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, it looks like about half the box is wadded up in her lap. He holds the basket in front of her which she gladly dumps the used tissues into and then he hands her the cup. He takes a seat at the other end of the couch and puts the basket on the floor next to him.

"I am curious," he starts. "Why did you sit here and watch something that upsets you?"

"You told me too," she replies, her eyes and nose still red and swollen.

"Did I?" he asks with a head tilt.

"You said, 'sit and watch,'" she explains just before taking a sip of tea.

"Ah, so I did," he sadly agrees. "Do you always follow directions so precisely?"

"Yes, sir," she answers, looking like she's about to drop from exhaustion.

"Very well then, I see I will have to be more careful with my instructions," he states and thinks for a few moments. "I would like you to finish your tea and then return to your bedroom to get some rest. If you need to, please use the restroom. Dinner will be ready in about an hour; I will come and fetch you when it is time. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she responds with a nod.

He watches passively as she finishes her tea as quickly as possible before retiring to her room. He waits until he's sure she's in her room before he goes to his own and collects his things. His shower is short, but invigorating as he now thinks he's a little closer to figuring her out.

He understands that for an unknown number of years, though he has a pretty good guess to how many, she has been abused, so she's only trying to prevent herself from getting another beating and that is perfectly understandable. She has been taken from her children by force and that easily explains the depression. While he can do nothing to ease her emotional pain, he now believes that he can help her become a little less fearful.

* * *

A little over an hour later, V wakes his guest and leads her to the kitchen where her dinner awaits her. He makes sure she's settled before disappearing into the depths of the gallery. When he returns he is dressed for an evening out with his knives strapped to his waist, his hat in hand and his cloak over his shoulders.

"I am going out," he tells her. "I'm not sure how long I will be gone. Please, feel free to do as you like with the exception that you do no intentional harm to yourself or my home. You may wander where you like, but please to not leave the Shadow Gallery and if a door is locked, stay out of that room. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she replies with a nod.

"And one other thing," he puts in before he turns to go. "Do not call me 'sir.' I would much rather you called me V."

"Yes, si…V," she responds.

"Very good," he says, the smile can be heard in his voice. "And with that, I bid you a good evening, _Georgia_."

He gives her a deep bow and then with a swish of his cloak, he dons his hat and is gone. She sits as still as a statue until she hears the outer door close and the lock click in place. With a sigh, she puts her fork down and pushes the plate away.

She folds her arms up on the table and then lies her head down on them. The pain in her heart takes hold of her and she lets out a wail of despair. She cries as if her heart is being torn from her body and in a sense, it has been.

* * *

Somewhere down a dark tunnel, V is brought up short by the sound of someone in great emotional pain. Torn between pity for her dilemma and anger at the racket she's making, he stands and waits for the storm to pass. It takes about fifteen minutes before she quiets and he waits a while longer to make sure that she's done.

He starts his journey again hoping that she's gotten it out of her system. She keeps making noise like that and Finch won't have to search for them, he'll just have to follow the sound of her crying. Who knew that someone who barely talks above a whisper can make so much noise?

* * *

After the tears finally run dry she just sits there thinking. She sits up only when it gets too uncomfortable remain with her head down. She stares at her half finished dinner that's stone cold and goes over his words in her head.

He said to do whatever she likes as long as she doesn't try to hurt herself of his home. She hates it when she's not given clear instructions. So she does what she always does when left to her own devices: she cleans.

About half an hour later the kitchen has been cleaned within an inch of its life, not that it was all that difficult. V is such a neat and fastidious man that it's not natural, but then again, that pretty much describes V: not natural. She looks down and scowls at the floor as if has affronted her and in a sense, it has.

She knows how to clean carpet, tile and wood floors, but she's never had to clean stone before. However, she can at least sweep the blasted thing so she looks for the broom. She checks all of the cupboards and is unable to find the broom, so she goes in search of it.

She looks in the rooms she knows even though she's fairly sure it's not going to be there. With a pounding heart, so goes down the hallway that leads towards the back of the gallery, to rooms she's never been in. She checks doors and finds that most of them are locked. She finally gets to an unlocked door and ever so carefully, she pushes it open to darkness.

After fumbling around in the dark a bit, she finds the light switch and turns on the light. It's quite possibly the biggest room in this labyrinth and it simply takes her breath away. She can't help herself as she wanders deeper into the room, completely forgetting about the broom she's supposed to be looking for.

She can only guess that it's about the size of a football field and is filled with pieces of art work ranging from small water colors to statues so large that a normal human man wouldn't be able to move them, but then V is obviously not normal. In one area there are some musical instruments and music stands in various stages of repair. There a wide variety of instruments such as violins, harps, kettle drums, flutes and even an accordion. Off to one side is an area where he cleans and restores these hidden treasures.

She's wanders through the room in awe careful not to touch, well at least to try not to touch. The shear enormity of it just boggles her mind as she goes down the rows of the neatly stored items. Now she understands why there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to V's décor.

After what seems to be either days or minutes, she's not sure which, she heads for the door. As she's reaching for the light switch she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Partially hidden behind a recently acquired painting, she finds something that makes her heart nearly stop beating.

* * *

He stands in the shadow of the London Aquarium or what's left of it anyways. The aquarium stood for science and questions and learning. Something that new government could not and will not tolerate since it would lead people to thinking for themselves. So, the place was closed down, the animals were mostly sold off and what was left was used for food.

Across the street he can see St. Thomas's Hospital under a cloudless, moonless night, one of the few things left untouched by the Reclamation. He turns his gaze past the Westminster Bridge and over the Thames where he can see Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

_Soon, very soon,_ he thinks to himself as he stares at the well lit buildings.

The sound of a boot heel on gravel catches his attention and brings him back to his present task: finding some new playmates. Soon another set of foot steps joins the first and then another. Quiet voices soon follow the footsteps and V sinks further into the shadows.

They pass so close to V's hiding spot that he can smell the booze and cigarette smoke on them and hear as one of them boasts about a woman he caught out after curfew and what punishment he gave her. V's blood boils as his fingers tighten around the handle of his stilettos. He waits until they pass before stepping out of the darkness behind them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," V calls out, startling them to a man. "I was wondering if you could direct me towards the Globe Theater. I seem to have lost my way."

"That ain't the only thing you've lost, buddy," a balding Fingerman sneers as he takes out a collapsible truncheon from his pocket.

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him…,"_ V starts to quote.

"What the hell are you suppose' to be?" asks the weasel faced miscreant as he reaches inside his coat.

"…_and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore," _V continues, holding his ground.

"Must be some kinda retard that they let out of the hospital," suggest the one with slicked back hair as he also reaches into his pocket.

"_But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…," _V purrs as he waits their move.

"Yeah, definitely a retard," Weasel agrees as he pulls out his gun.

That's all the invitation V needs as he pulls his knives out of their sheaths while he spins around. He catches the Fingerman sneaking up behind him square in the jaw with the hilt of the dagger in his hand, sending the man to the ground. He completes the turn at inhuman speed and lets the second blade fly where it embeds itself in the chest of Weasel.

Baldy charges with Slick right behind him, truncheon raised for an overhand strike. The blade still in V's hand connects with Baldy's gut with a sickening squish. A third knife is pulled from its protective home as V shoves Baldy at Slick who by some miracle manages to push his dying comrade away before being knocked over by the body.

Slick pulls out his gun, but it's too late as V's weapon opens his neck with surgical precision. As Slick's body starts to collapse, a sharp pain shoots through V's shoulder and he spins around as the Fingerman V had first attacked attempts to stab the vigilante with a switch blade knife. A blade to the gut and another to the heart quickly ends the life of the broken jawed fool, but not before the switch blade has left a sizable gash across V's shoulder blade.

Disgusted with himself for his carelessness, V quickly recovers his one thrown stiletto and then cleans them on the clothes of his victims. He sheathes his daggers and swiftly leaves the area. A few blocks later, he stops and tries to assess the damage.

But as flexible as he is, even V can't look at his own back. He pulls out a blade and cuts a couple strips from his cloak. After using the rags to bandage his wound, he makes his way home as quickly as possible. While his ability to tolerate pain is greater than most men's, he still feels it and by the time he reaches the door to his home, he's feeling a little light headed.

He heads for the kitchen to get the medical kit with the intention to head for the bathroom to assess the damage. Before he can even finish crossing the main corridor, the sound of a guitar playing stops him in his tracks. Then a soft voice starts to sing and he forgets about getting the medical kit.

**A million stars light  
This beautiful night **

The music is coming from down the hall that leads into the depths of the Shadow Gallery and he starts to follow it.**  
This is not a night to die  
Let me sing and dance  
Beneath the sky  
I have such love to give   
To give!  
I want a chance to live  
Live  
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
Give  
Asking nothing in return **

From down the hallway, he sees the door is open to the storage room and the light is on, as silently as he can, he makes his way to that portal.**  
Free  
Free to find my way  
Free to have my say  
Free to see the day **

**Be  
Like I used to be  
Like a wild bird free  
With all of life in me  
Live   
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
Give   
Asking nothing in return  
Though this world tears us apart   
We're still together in my heart  
I want the world to hear my cry  
And even if I have to die  
Love will not die  
Love will change the world **

He carefully pushes the door open and sees his guest sitting in the chair he normally uses when he works on the artguitar on her lap, music on a stand and her singing her heart out as the music reaches its crescendo.**  
Live  
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
Give  
Asking nothing in return  
I'll love until love wears me away  
I'll die and I know my love will stay  
And I know my love will stay**

Time seems to stand still as the last notes fade away. Who knew the girl could sing? While he can't really see her face, her body is as relaxed as he's ever seen it. Even when she's asleep she doesn't seem this at peace.

She turns her head slightly and he can see a small smile on her lips and for some strange reason that makes him happy. He can feel his body relax until she spots him. She jumps and gasps at the same time, clutching the guitar to her body, looking wildly around for an escape and he can nearly hear her heart pounding.

"Stop!" he commands and she does.

She immediately stills and he has this incredible urge to say, 'good, girl,' as if she is some type of dog. After giving himself a swift mental kick for even thinking such a thing, he moves closer to her and she holds the guitar even tighter.

"I will not take the guitar from you," he assures her as he slowly moves closer. "I retrieved it from your former home in hopes that it would bring you comfort. I'm glad to see that it does. Might I ask why it was hidden?"

"Michael wouldn't have approved," she mumbles in a shaky voice.

"I can understand the singing, but why not let you just play?" he asks as he steps up next to the chair.

"Because she…I don't play," she barely whispers as he crouches down next to her.

"I have witnessed the contrary," he points out. "Not only do you play, you play very well. What is your name?"

"Georgia," she automatically answers before the last word is out of his mouth.

"I grow weary of this," he growls as his hands curl into fists and the color drains out of her face. "I know your name is not Georgia Jones. Now tell me your name."

"I don't have one," she whimpers, slightly turning away from him as if to protect the instrument from his ire.

"You don't have one?" he demands, he feels the adrenaline flowing through his veins as he rises to his feet and she cringes. "You have a name and I will have it. Now tell me your name!"

She hastily returns the guitar to its case and then slides to the floor, kneeling at his feet with her forehead nearly resting on his boots. If her actions weren't confusing enough, what she says next nearly leaves him speechless.

"What ever you want it to be, master."

* * *

**Author's notes:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Trust me when I tell you that there is method to my madness and I will tell all at the end of the story. As always, please review.

**Trivia time:** What's the significance of the Globe Theater?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to Live. Written by Richard Cocciante, Luc Plamondon, Will Jennings (c) 1999 Blue Sky Rider Songs, all rights administered by Irving Music, Inc. Performed by Celine Dion


	6. Obbligato

Master?

Did she just call him…'master'?

V's brain stalls for about two seconds before it burns rubber into high gear. Things finally start to fall into place and he mentally curses himself for not only not seeing it before but also playing into the role of 'master', even unknowingly. With a sigh, he gets down on the floor with her, puts his hand under her chin and forces her face up, ignoring the shooting pain that goes through his back.

"Look at me," he gently instructs and a shudder runs through her body as she complies. "I won't hurt you, I promise. How long have you been a slave?"

"Nine years," she softly answers

"I have a variety of questions to ask you, but for now it must wait," he states as releases her face and he flows to his feet. "The hour is late and I have things that need tending to. We will continue this discussion later. For now, you may take your guitar to your room if you like or you can play it in here. The choice is yours; you're a free woman now."

"You've destroyed it?" she asks from her spot on the floor, hope in her eyes.

"Destroyed what?" he asks back as he extends her his hand.

"My ownership papers," she answers as she lets him help her to her feet.

"I don't have them," he replies.

"Then who does?" she inquires, fear returning to her eyes.

"I'm not sure," he states.

"Then I belong to whoever has it," she whispers, her shoulders drop in defeat.

"You are free," he insists.

"No, I'm not," she whispers as she less then elegantly sits back on the chair.

With a swirl of what's left of his cloak, he sweeps out of the room. He's frustrated beyond words at this point. What is wrong with this woman? She's free now and all she can do is worry about a stupid piece of paper.

He stomps into the kitchen, grabs the medical kit and heads for the bathroom. Once he's safely locked in there, he carefully disrobes from the waist up and examines his injury in the mirror. He makes a sound deep in his throat that's akin to a growl and then redresses.

He goes in search of his 'guest' and finds her right where he left her. She's picked her guitar back up and is gently running her fingers over the strings. But it's obvious that she's not actually playing the instrument as she seems to be lost in thought and the notes are discordant.

She turns her head enough so that he knows that she's aware of his presence, but she doesn't look at him. She's slumped over the guitar and from what he can see of her face, she's been crying again. Doesn't this woman ever run out of tears?

"I'm afraid I'm in need of your assistance," he states, clearly not happy to be asking this.

She numbly nods her understanding, places the guitar back in its case and stands to follow him. He leads her to the kitchen and motions her to stay while he goes to retrieve the medical kit. She's standing right where he left her looking as if she's lost everything in the world.

"I seem to have been on the wrong end of a knife for a change," he explains as he sits at the small table and puts the kit down in front of him. "While I usually tend to my own injuries, even I can't reach my back. Please come closer."

She steps up behind him but does nothing, just stands there. He hands her a pair of latex gloves and proceeds to tell her what to do. She silently follows his instructions as she cuts away the vest and shirt and then cleans and treats the wound.

"Thank you for your help," he states trying to ignore the fact that she was able to see the damage done to his skin by the fire. "You are free to do as you please now."

She strips off the gloves, goes over to the dust bin, tosses them in, walks over to the sink and promptly throws up. While her reaction doesn't please him, he's just glad she was able to hold it long enough not to vomit down his back. He quietly puts the kit back in order and then returns it to its rightful place. He fumes at the state of his body and her reaction to seeing it as he turns to leave, her soft voice stops him.

"I can't stand the sight of blood," she states, still leaning over the sink. "You'd think after seeing mine repeatedly for eight years, I'd be used to it by now. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"I'm afraid the apologies are mine to make," he replies. "I was unaware of your aversion to the sight of blood. I will keep this in mind in the future."

"Thank you," she sighs gratefully.

"You know," he states as he turns back around. "I believe that is the first time you've spoken without being spoken to first and quite possibly the longest you've spoken as well."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be," he replies a bit sternly. "You have just as much right to speak as anyone else. Here you are safe and free."

With that, he spins around on his heel and quickly leaves the area. She listens as his footsteps fade away and then the sound of his door closing and locking reaches her.

"Am I?" she asks the empty air.

* * *

By the following morning she's not talking again and much to V's annoyance, she's now avoiding him as much as possible. For next few days he tries to talk to her, to get his questions answered, but she remains silent. She practically lives in her room now only coming out to eat or use the restroom. She spends her time sleeping, reading or playing the guitar in there and he's not sure how she's not going crazy because it's sure driving him nuts.

If he can't get answers one way, he'll get them another. After doing a little hacking, he is able to access all of Jones's personal accounts. His bank accounts from nine years ago are of great interest to him. It takes him a while before he finds anything out of the ordinary.

When he first glances through the transactions on the bank account, nothing seems out of place. Then he notices money transfers to another account over the course of a year. The transfers aren't very large, a few hundred here and there, but they are many and when V adds them all up, the total comes to nearly a quarter of a million pounds.

V gives a low whistle and then starts to investigate the other account and the only thing he can come up with is a name. 'Shire Stables' seems to be a strange thing to be spending that much money on, but then he remembers the brood mare Jones owns that seems to have fallen off of the face of the Earth. Another dead end and he's on the verge of going out and beating up a few more Fingermen just to vent his frustrations on them.

With his shoulder still healing, finding some new 'playmates' is not advisable. But if he can't create a little mayhem, maybe he can get some information. A plan quickly forms in his mind as he gets to his feet and heads for the makeup room.

It takes him the better part of a half hour complete his transformation from a masked vigilante to an old blind man. He exchanges his metal mask for one made of latex, the long black wig is replaced with a shorter gray one that has a matching beard and mustache and his clothing is changed into a less dramatic suit with a long coat, cane, fedora and sunglasses that entirely cover his eyes completing the ensemble.

After carefully concealing a few chosen items upon his person, he heads across the gallery to the spare bedroom. He can hear her playing the guitar again and it has a somewhat soothing effect on him until he shakes it off and knocks on her door.

"Madam, I wish to speak to you," he calls through the door.

The music stops immediately and he can hear her put the instrument down before she slips off of the bed. A moment later he hears the door unlock and the latch open. When she opens the door, she's looking down but when she doesn't see the usual attire, she quickly looks up and is quite shocked by what she sees. She attempts to slam the door shut but he's too quick and easily blocks the door open with a well placed foot.

"It's alright, it's me," he tries to assure her.

She quickly back peddles until she runs into the bed, fear etching ever fiber of her being. He steps forward and she reaches over and grabs the first thing that comes to hand, in this case it's a book.

"STOP!" He commands with his hand up. "I told you not to harm my home and that book is part of my home."

"V?" she asks in a small, frightened voice.

"Yes, it's me," he repeats in a more soothing voice, moving no closer to the frightened woman. "I need to go out and the Guy Fawks visage is sometimes detrimental to my needs. I do not know when I will return, so do not wait up and if you get hungry, please feel free to make yourself something to eat. I will be back when I can."

He turns and leaves without another word and she listens to him go. A few moments later she hears the door that leads to the rest of the world open and shut followed by the sound of the lock clicking in place. The instant she's sure he's gone is when she starts to panic.

* * *

Using the tunnels and old tube lines, V makes his way across town, jogging most of the way. Once he reaches the surface streets, he gets into character like any good actor and slowly makes his way to a book shop that sells government approved books.

He fumbles with finding the door knob at first and then carefully enters the store. Using his cane as a guide, he makes his way towards the back of the shop. The tapping of his cane warns people of his approach and for the most part, they get out of his way.

While to everyone there he appears to be blind, in reality, he can see quite well. The stuff they pumped him full of and the fire at Larkhill has left him with extremely sensitive eyesight. His ability to move so well through the dark comes from that and that is why he must have the mesh over the eye holes of his mask and wear the sunglasses when he's about as a normal man. The glasses are very important to him when, like today, he's out during daylight hours. They help with the crippling blindness of the bright light and there's not enough makeup in the world to hide the damage the fire caused the skin around his eyes.

"Mr. Vaughan, so good to see you again," says a familiar voice off to the side.

"Ah, Mrs. Alridge, how are you this fine afternoon?" V pleasantly asks, slightly turning his head in her direction.

"I'm very well, thank you," Alridge replies pleasantly. "The book you ordered is in the back. I'll show you the way."

With that the motherly lady takes his arm and leads him through a curtained door into a small sitting area. He takes a seat in a comfortable chair as she returns to the shop. Sometime later, he hears the bell on the door ring for the last time and the lock slide home.

Once that happens, he takes the electronic jammer out of his pocket, turns it on and puts it on the table. The portly woman toddles on past him to the small kitchenette next to the sitting area and puts the kettle on. She gets a tray ready as the water heats and once everything is done, she returns to her 'customer', setting the tray on the low table in front of the chairs.

"So what do I owe the honor of this visit?" she asks as she pours them both a cup of tea.

"I need information," he answers as he accepts his cup.

"About what?" she inquires as she settles back in her chair.

"What do you know about Major Jones's murder and his missing wife?" he questions as he takes a sip.

"I only know what I see on the telly," she replies, eyeing him until she sees a small red stone drop into V's cup with an audible 'plop'. "I know that they found the blood of two people in his home. One was his and the other they don't know, but it's not his wife's. The house was being readied for a secret rendezvous and it is believed that the blood belongs to his mistress or the murderer."

"What about the missing wife?" he asks, slightly disappointed that nothing new has been added to his information.

"Now that one is a mystery," she admits. "No one has seen the girl since the boys saw her stolen away by the murderer. The poor dears, to lose their mother and father all in one night, it just breaks my heart. There have been rumors of course, but nothing substantial and most certainly no proof. It seems the Bobbies are just chasing shadows where she's concerned. It's like she just fell off of the Earth and they're not having any better luck with the mistress."

"I understand that Jones owned a rather…unique…animal," he says. "Know anything about that?"

"If you're talkin' about the horse, I know about as much about that as I do the missing wife," she replies. "That Inspector Finch though, he's been searching high and low for that animal. I don't see why, it's just a horse."

"Speaking of horses, what do you know about Shire Stables?" he asks and watches her carefully through the darkened lenses.

"Now that I definitely know nothing about," she insists, her face paling and she watches carefully as a clear stone joins the red one at the bottom of his cup.

"What do you know about Shire Stables?" he repeats when she doesn't immediately answer.

"I know that you don't want to be messing with them," she replies in a lowered voice. "I know that they'd just as soon send you floatin' down the Thames as to look at you."

"What do you know?" he insists, a growl creeping into his voice.

"I know that rumor has it that the flesh they pedal isn't just horse flesh," she hisses.

"Slaves," he states.

"I wouldn't know," she confirms. "You lookin' to buy?"

"Maybe," he replies quickly. "Where can I find the owners of this fine establishment?"

"I wouldn't know," she states flatly.

"How much?" he asks.

"More than you've got," she hisses. "They find out that I know anything and that I told someone I'm as good as dead."

"They won't get it from me," he assures her. "Now where?"

She doesn't answer until a green stone joins the first two.

"There's a rumor, rumor mind you, that the bloke you're lookin' for frequents a place called the Red Lion Pub on Duke of York Street and that's all I know," she heatedly states and then stands up.

She returns her cup to the tray and all but rips the other one out of V's hands. She takes the tray back to the kitchenette and he watches as she fishes the stones out of his cup, rinses them off, dries them and then carefully puts them in a hidden compartment under the sink and takes a book out of the same spot. She returns to him and pushes the book into his hands. He stays silent, knowing that she has no more information and even if she did, she's not about to tell him for any price.

"You might find this one an interesting read," she says in a more kindly tone than before. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got customers waiting to come in."

"Of course," V responds as he stows the jammer, stands and allows her to lead him to the front door.

"Have a good day, Mr. Vaughan," she says as she opens the front door.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Alridge," he replies as he sticks his cane out in front of him causing a couple people to have to move out of his way. "Have a pleasant day."

With that he departs, his book in hand. He doesn't dare look at it up here on the street, but he can't rush his return to the tunnels. So with barely contained energy, he slowly makes his way back to the tunnels.

Once he's sure the coast is clear, he slips back down into the familiar and welcoming darkness of the tubes. As soon as he's sure that he's alone, he pulls the dust cover off. As expected, it's another banned book.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams lies in his hands. He can never seem to get over the fact that government bans such classic literature. With loving fingers, he fans the pages until he finds what he's looking for and a second later a scrap of paper falls to the floor. He's not sure how she managed to get it in there while he was watching, but this little piece of flattened wood pulp has the name and the real pub scrawled on it in her hand writing.

With a satisfied smirk, he places the piece of paper carefully in one of the inside pockets of his coat, drops the book into an outside pocket and continues his journey home. He moves with a much lighter step now that he has a lead he can sink his teeth into and he twirls his cane through his fingers. With a satisfied sigh, he reaches home and unlocks the door.

As he steps inside the gallery proper, he notes the silence and for a change it seems a little odd. Some small part of him had hoped that she would be playing when he came back. With an indifferent shrug, he heads for his dressing room and changes into his more comfortable attire.

Once that task is completed, he decides to check in on her. As soon as he steps into the hallway he knows something is wrong. Her door stands ajar, something that hasn't happened for the past several days. A quick glance in her room confirms that she's not there.

Taking a deep breath, he checks the bathroom but she's not there, the kitchen and TV room are also empty. A glance down the back hallway shows that none of the lights are on in any of the back rooms. He returns to her bedroom for further inspection and finally notices that the guitar case is missing.

A quick look under the bed turns up neither her nor the instrument and what's even more disturbing is the fact that her bag is gone as well. He tears open the draws in the dressing table next to the bed to find that they're all empty. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he realizes she's gone.

* * *

**Author's notes:** J and Senira, you are both correct, The Globe Theater is where Shakespeare's plays were first preformed. People seem to think I'm joking when I say that my muse won't give me another chapter without reviews. Until I read J's review I had no clue how this chapter would start, but once I did, the words started to flow. So, do your good deed for the day and feed my muse please. 


	7. Canon

After a moment of nearly paralyzing panic, he takes a deep breath and regains his calm. He thinks for a minute about the situation and he remembers having to unlock the door to get back into the Shadow Gallery. So unless the missing lady is able to not only unlock a door, but to relock it without the benefit of a key, she's still here somewhere.

He heads back towards the door that leads out to the tunnels to double check that he had locked the door upon his return. With a sigh of relief, the door remains secured and now for the next problem. Where in the labyrinth of rooms and passages is she hiding? And more bothersome: Why?

He systematically starts to go through the rooms one by one, shutting doors behind him when he's sure she's not in that room. His search eventually leads him towards the back of his home. Remembering where he found her a few days ago, he concludes that it would be the most logical place for her to go.

His steps quickly take him down the hall to the door in question, but upon opening it he discovers the lights are off. With a swift pass of his hand over the switch, the lights come flickering on and he does a quick inspection of the room but finds nothing out of place. Perplexed, he heads for the door, passing the pile of instruments in the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

He slowly turns around and looks over at the musical devices that he's collected over the years and a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Something that wouldn't normally be out of place in such a gather, but obviously is, is a guitar case. She's hidden it in plain sight again and if it wasn't for the fact that she's been driving him crazy for the past few weeks, he might laugh at her ingenuity.

As it is, it amuses him and some of the anger and fear drains out of him. But there's still the problem of finding her. The room is vast and filled with a wide variety of hiding spots.

Trying to keep his anger in check, he methodically starts to search the room. It takes him nearly an hour to go down just one side of the room. Wherever she's squirreled herself away too, she's done a good job of it.

He's getting frustrated by her refusal to show herself despite him calling for her even when he uses 'Georgia.' He's hungry, tired and fed up with this whole game and is ready to call it quits. A part of him figures that she'll come out when she's ready and another part is worried that she's managed to hurt herself and can't call out for help.

He's about to give up when a small noise catches his attention. Holding perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, he waits to see if it'll happen again. A few seconds later it does. He hears it: a muffled sneeze.

As fast as a thought he follows the sound to the furthest corner of the room from the door. He pauses and a moment later another suppressed sneeze helps him home in on her. With narrowed eyes, he grabs a tarp off some long forgotten object and yanks it off.

She shrieks as her cover is pulled away and tries to hide behind the previously covered item. Faster than a striking snake, he reaches out and grabs her, dragging her from her hiding spot. He pulls her away from the recovered treasures in fear that she'll lash out and damage one of them, but instead she goes limp.

He lets her go and she collapses into a heap at his feet. Trembling, she scrambles onto her knees and prostrates herself before him. He stares at her for some time as he calms his own inner demons before he can say anything that's even close to being rational. Taking a very deep breath, he lets it out very, very slowly and then he opens his mouth.

"Why were you hiding back there?" he growls, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Afraid," she whimpers.

"Of what?" he snaps, his fingers unconsciously curling into his palm.

"Them," she replies, shaking so hard he's surprised he doesn't feel it through the floor.

"Them who?" he demands, still glaring down at her.

"The ones who sold me," she whispers. "They're going to come for me."

"That would require them to know where to look first," he points out and all she can do is let out a choked sob. "Come, enough of this foolishness. Get your guitar and go back to your room. I'll come for you when your dinner is ready."

"Yes, master," she mumbles just before she scrambles across the room, grabs her guitar and dashes out the door at a dead run.

A short time later he hears a distant door slam shut and he lets out another puff of frustrated air. He goes to place the tarp over the object she'd been hiding next to and stops. It's one of the first items that he liberated from Sutler and he had completely forgotten about it.

He runs a leather clad hand over the clear plastic dome and stares at this small piece of history. He thinks about all of the people it must have made happy listening to it, maybe even falling in love together before it was regulated to a dusty corner of a warehouse and then the corner of his storage room. Music is the one thing that seems to make her happy and calm so maybe it's time this old jukebox came out of hiding and played once more.

* * *

By the next morning she's even worse than before as she's only doing what she's told and the rest of the time she spends kneeling on the floor of whatever room he's left her in. After a few hours of this, he's nearly tripped over her more times than he cares to count and it's damn well getting infuriating. Eventually, he makes her sit on the couch and he sticks a random movie into the player while he goes back to rearranging display cases and furniture.

By the time he has the perfect spot arranged, then there's the matter of the wiring. He goes off in search of a spool of wire only to return to find her squirming in her seat, all be it subtly. With a sigh of disgust he turns towards her.

"For heaven's sake, woman, if you need to use the restroom, then do so," he snaps.

She scurries off and he returns to his project shaking his head in disbelief. After making sure he has enough wire, he goes off to get the machine with a dolly. By the time he's wrestled the thing into place, he's a bit out of breath, but very excited by his new toy.

Before he finishes wiring the jukebox to the power, he takes off the sides and starts the checking for any damage that might need fixing. After he's sure that everything is in order, he puts the machine back together and then finishes wiring it. He goes to flip the circuit breaker to give the jukebox power and is delighted when he sees it light up.

He returns to the couch to show off his new toy to his guest and is rather disappointed to find that piece of furniture empty. He frowns at the couch for a few moments and then with a low growl in his throat, he heads for the bathroom. Sure enough, he finds her in the hallway just outside the restroom door, kneeling on the floor and trembling in pain. He drags her to her feet only to find that she can't stand.

"What is wrong?" he demands.

"Knees hurt," she whimpers in pain, trying desperately to hold her own weight.

"Dare I ask _why_ you were kneeling in the hallway?" he grumbles as he lifts her into his arms and heads towards the TV room.

"You told me to go to the bathroom," she answers.

"I am well aware of that," he growls. "But why were you on your knees on a stone floor?"

"That's what I'm supposed to do," she states as she's rather unceremoniously dumped onto the couch.

"Says who?" he questions as he grabs the remote and turns off the telly that's now showing some mindless government approved sitcom.

"Trainer," she replies as she tries to discreetly move her toes to get the blood circulating again.

"What trainer?" he inquires, annoyed that she's staring at his knees and not his face.

"My trainer," she states, trying to ignore the feeling of pins and needles running up and down her legs and the ache in her knees.

"Your trainer?" he asks as he squats down in front of her trying to get her to look at him. "What type of trainer?"

"Slave," she whispers staring at her hands lying in her lap.

There's silence for some time as V digests what she's said. Her wiggling feet haven't escaped his notice and he reaches over and starts rubbing her legs to help get the blood flowing again. She winces, but voices no objection.

"I have told you repeatedly that you are free," he states as he starts to work on the other leg. "Why do you continue to act like a slave?"

"It's all I know now," she sighs unhappily. "I don't think I can do anything else."

"You play the guitar and sing," he points out to which she only shrugs. "Why do you think someone will come after you?"

"I'm property that can talk," she replies softly. "Very expensive property if Michael is…was to be believed."

"What would it take for you to stop thinking of yourself as a slave?" he inquires as he lets her leg go.

"Destroy the papers," she answers, still staring at her lap.

"Easier said than done," he reminds her. "I have no clue where to start looking. Do you know what they look like?"

"Yes," she hisses through her teeth.

"Well?" he prompts after nearly a minute of silence.

"They have my name on it," she barely whispers.

"And what is your name?" he inquires fearing the answer he'll get.

"I can't," she whimpers as she starts trembling in fear.

"Please, I must know your name if I'm going to help you," he insists, desperately trying to hold onto his patience.

"I can't," she sobs as she pulls her knees up to her chest and start rocking back and forth. "Please, don't make me. They'll find me and then they'll do to me what they did…oh god, please don't"

All he can do is stare at her in amazement as she breaks down to near hysterics begging him to not make her tell him her name. When he does nothing, the crying only gets worse and she starts to hyperventilate. He sits next to her on the couch, wraps an arm around her shoulders, pinning her to his body and puts his hand loosely over her nose and mouth.

"Calm down," he tells her as her body continues to violently shake. "I will forestall asking you for your name. But sooner or later, you will have to tell it to me."

"I can't," she breathlessly wails from behind his hand. "I just can't."

"You need to calm down," he repeats as she continues to panic. "Slow your breathing. I'm not going to ask your name again."

Once he tells her that, she starts to calm. He holds onto her until she stills and then he releases her. He carefully moves away from her, finally ending up on the other end of the couch from her where he can watch her closely without crowding her.

"Is there anything else on these papers that can help me identify them?" he quietly asks.

"I'm not sure," she whispers as she sits there like she has no bones in her body. "Michael never let me take a good look at them. He would just wave them in my face every once and a while just to remind me that he owned me and that he could do what he pleases with me. The only thing he made sure I noticed was my name."

"Can you tell me where he kept them?" he inquires, encouraged that she's talking even though she won't look at him.

"He kept them in his safe," she answers. "It's below his desk in the den."

"Now we do seem to have a bit of a problem," he sighs. "The safe was cleaned out before I could get to it. I believe your papers are now in the possession of Scotland Yard."

"I belong to the police?" she asks in confusion.

"No, you belong to yourself," he reminds her rather heatedly. "I believe the police are unaware of what they have. I will have to investigate that further. Maybe you can help with another mater though. What do you know about Shire Stables?"

The color completely drains from her face and it looks like she's about to become physically sick. Beads of sweat form on her brow and upper lip as her pupils dilate to an abnormally large size. She starts trembling again as her breathing speeds up and he's pretty sure he has his answer.

"Never mind," he says soothingly as he rises to his feet. "You don't have to tell me, I think I can figure it out on my own. Come, let me show you my latest endeavor."

He holds his hand out to her and without another thought she lets him pull her to her feet. He helps her up and then steadies her when she wobbles. After he's sure she's stably upright, he leads her across the gallery. She silently follows him two steps back and slightly to the left. He ignores this annoying habit, something else from her 'training' no doubt, and leads her over to the jukebox.

"What do you think?" he inquires as he waves a hand towards the machine, inviting her to come closer.

"Good lord, I haven't seen one of these in a coon's age," she breathes a she steps closer to the machine. "Where did you find it?"

"In one of the vaults of the Ministry of Objectionable Material originally," he answers as leather clad gloves caress the plastic dome. "Though, I'm ashamed to say that I too had forgotten that I even had it until yesterday. For that I must thank you."

"For what?" she asks, staring at him in bewilderment for a few seconds before dropping her eyes.

"For hiding under the tarp that I had covered this with," he answers as he turns and looks at her.

"Oh, is that what was under there," she muses as she moves a bit closer, but is still about a step away from him.

"You didn't know?" he asks with his slightly tilted to the side.

"I saw the tarp, figured I could hide under it, turned off the light and crawled under," she explains. "I never actually looked under the tarp while the lights were on."

"But this was in the farthest corner of the room from the light switch or door," he states, slightly horrified and a bit amused.

"I didn't say I did it quickly," she points out.

"You could have damaged something," he says, just barely managing not to growl.

"I went very slowly and I was very careful," she assures him. "Was anything out of place?"

"Accept for your cleverly hidden guitar, nothing was amiss," he replies as a thought occurred to him. "I would like to know where you hid your clothes."

"I packed them in my bag and buried them under the books in my room," she responds. "I figured by the time they found them I would have been caught or have gotten away. I just didn't want to give them any clues I was here."

"You're a very clever lady, you know that?" he chuckles.

"If I'm so clever, then how did I end up in this mess?" she mumbles, but he still hears it.

"I would hardly call being captured and turned into a slave being foolish," he states as he crosses his arms and leans against the jukebox.

"Accept I wasn't captured," she mutters, hanging her head in shame. "I did this to myself."

He stands and stares at her in shock, unable to come up with anything to say.

"May I go now?" she asks softly.

"Yes," he responds, barely aware that he even spoke.

She returns to her room to have yet another good long cry as he mulls over what she's said and the other information he's acquired over the past few weeks. When he checks in on her some time later, she's cried herself out and is sound asleep again. He goes to make dinner as the jukebox sits off to the side, once again forgotten.

* * *

V tries rather unsuccessfully to get her to talk again before, during and after dinner. Her depression seems to have hit a new all time low and it's driving him to distraction. He tries to get her mind off of her past by showing her some of the other rooms in his home.

His playroom scares her, the monitor room gives her the willies and the garden room leaves her sad for want to see the sun again. But despite everything, still she only utters a word or two here or there. He makes her watch his favorite movie but refuses to embarrass himself by fencing with the suit of armor patiently waiting for him in the corner.

After many hours of frustration, he sends her to bed, displeased with both himself and her. Once she's retired for the evening, he lowers the lights in the gallery and an unusual light catches his attention. He walks over to the jukebox once more and stares down at it. Maybe tomorrow it will have more luck in getting her to talk again and with another sigh, he heads for his bed.

* * *

In the near darkness of his room, he changes for bed. Once properly attired for the evening, he settles between the sheets, props himself up and opens up his newly acquired banned book. Just as he's getting to the part where Maggie starts to go on about her sister-in-law's and brother-in-law's antics at the dinner table, a scream rips through the air.

V is out of his bed and through the door before the book hits the floor, barely remembering to grab his mask and wig on the way out. He gets the wig on, but has to hold the mask in place as he opens her door and his ears are assaulted by her fearful cries. She's sitting up in bed screaming and he can't tell if she's still asleep or awake.

He sits on the edge of her bed and touches her shoulder. He's nearly startled out of his own skin with how quickly she latches onto him. She throws her arms around his rib cage and holds on for dear life. On a smaller or less fit man, she'd probably be breaking ribs, but despite the discomfort, he handles her grip quite well.

Since he had one hand up holding the mask in place and the other was touching her shoulder, she doesn't pin his arms to his side. He takes his good fortune without question and quickly straps the mask in place before he hesitantly wraps his arms around her. He awkwardly pats her back and makes shushing noises as she sobs into his pajama top, soaking it thoroughly.

After several minutes of her not calming down, he tries calling her by the only name she's given, but that only seems to make things worse. Calling her madam doesn't make things better, but at least they don't make things worse. Then a thought comes to him from clear out of the blue and it's such a far fetched notion that it's probably the right one.

"Audrey," he softly calls.

She instantly goes stiff, every muscle in her body tensing, getting ready for fight or flight, but more likely flight. He gives himself a small smile of triumph and some part of his brain notes that she's barely breathing.

"That is your name, isn't it?" he quietly asks and he can feel her nod against his chest. "I promise that I will protect you with my life, now please tell me. Tell me the story of Audrey Meadows."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I hope I haven't lost anybody with all the mellow dramatics. As always, please feed my muse with a review. 


	8. Aria

My name is Audrey Sophia Meadows and I was born on the fifth of November 2009 in Charlotte, North Carolina. My parents named me after my great-grandmothers. Audrey means 'noble strength' and Sophia means 'wisdom.' I guess I was poorly named.

I was the second of four children. My brother Jimmy is…was a couple years older than me and the twins, Tommy and Mary, were a few years younger. Grandmother always said Momma and Poppa were very organized havin' their children since we were boy, girl, boy, girl.

While we weren't filthy rich, we were very well to do and my brothers, sister and I never did want for anythin'. I guess we were a bit spoiled.

We lived on the outskirts of town in a big old house on a couple acres of land. We lived in our own little world there with a small bit of Mother Nature in our backyard. I remember Momma gettin' so angry when the deer would eat her peas. Of course we kids weren't all that heart broken to have a few less vegetables to eat at dinner time, especially peas. We had our ups and downs like any family does, but all in all, we were happy. And I remember the day it all started to unravel as if it were yesterday.

Momma and I were plannin' my debutant party. Mary came in lookin' like she had dropped the flour canister over herself and had been drawin' on arms and face with a red marker. I thought she was just playin' around; tryin' to ruin my party plans…How was I to know she was really sick?

She died a little over a week later. Tommy died a few days after that. Momma lasted another couple weeks before the sickness took her too.

Poppa took me and Jimmy to go live with Grandmother in California. With Momma and the twins gone, Poppa just withered away until he was nothin'. He was Grandmother's only son and it just about killed her, but she stayed strong for me and Jimmy.

A few months later the war started and Jimmy was drafted. I'd write to him almost every day and for nearly a year I got one of his letters about once a week. But then they stopped comin' and it was just me and Grandmother after that.

Money was tight and food was scarce, but we survived. My inheritance was non-existant thanks to the military and the government and then Grandmother's social security checks stopped comin'. We were livin' on her small bit of land up in the Santa Cruz mountains and we had some food, more than a lot of folks probably. We had chickens for eggs and goats for milk, plus we had a garden for vegetables. I didn't mind havin' peas with dinner anymore.

Shortly before my eighteenth birthday, I saw an ad for mail order brides and grooms. I thought it would be perfect. I could marry some man in another country and then bring Grandmother over. We wouldn't have to worry about the war or the plague any more.

Grandmother hated the idea. She said that the war couldn't last forever and marryin' someone just to escape a bad situation is libel to make things even worse. I thought she was bein' foolish.

Since I was a minor, I had to have her permission to become a bride. She refused to sign and forbade me from contactin' these people. So, on my eighteenth birthday, against her wishes, I went down to their offices and signed the papers.

Poppa was a lawyer and he always told us not to sign anythin' before readin' it. I always thought that was silly back then. I wish I had listened to Poppa now.

They gave me a pretty dress to wear and they had ladies there to do my hair and makeup. Once I was all prettied up, they took my picture and put it on a website with the pictures of others like me. People tryin' to escape to a better life.

They sent me into a small room to change and as I was puttin' my own clothes back on, I heard some strange hissin' comin' from the air vents. I tried to run out of the room, but the door was locked from the outside. I screamed and yelled and banged on that door somethin' fierce, but no one answered. After a while I got dizzy and then everythin' went black.

When I finally woke up again I was in a small room that was about as big as a horse's stall with strange paddin' on the floor. My clothes were gone and my hands were in these strange mittens that had no fingers so my hands were bunched up into fists. The door would have been so easy to open if I had use of my fingers, but I didn't, so there I stayed.

I remember bein' so thirsty and hungry when I woke up that I was about crazy for somethin' to eat or drink. Hangin' on the wall was this bag of water with this funny hose hangin' down that you were supposed to suck on to get anythin' out of it. Just below that was a food bowl filled with somethin' that almost looked like stew. I was so hungry and thirsty I didn't care and I ate and drank my fill.

They came to check on me a while later and I wanted to yell and scream at them. I wanted to kick and punk and scratch them. But I didn't.

I found out later that the food and water were drugged to keep the newer 'animals' calm until they could be properly trained. That's all I was to them: an animal.

I tried starvin' myself, but they force fed me. After havin' a feedin' tube stuffed down my throat a couple of times, I gave up tryin'. When they were sure I wasn't goin' to do anythin' stupid, that's when my 'trainin' began.

First, I was beaten so I knew who was in charge. The bruises were plenty and there often some blood. But the beatin's weren't so bad that they required hospitalization or would leave scars.

Then there were the lessons on proper respect and behavior. Slaves are not allowed to look anyone in the face; it took more slaps to the face than I can remember for me to learn that one. When a slave's services are not needed, the slave is to kneel where left until needed again. It took only two whacks at the back of the knees with a baton for me to learn that lesson. I kneeled so much I was sure my knees would break. When walkin' with a master, it's always two steps back and slightly to the left. I learned that one the fastest of all. A slave is never, ever to talk unless spoken to first and that took more face slappin' for me to get that into my head.

The final lessons were the worst. I had to learn to give pleasure to my new master's body. I had to learn to do things that I never even knew people would find pleasurable and I had to do it to both men and women. They never did anythin' to me themselves, though I did have to learn how to do them to others. I wondered why I was spared but others were not until I found out that they could get a higher price for me because I was a virgin.

Then towards the end of my trainin', I was sold to another slaver. They had a customer all lined up for me, but it would be several months before he would take possession. After I was shipped to Switzerland as nothin' more than cargo, I found out I had to go through some…'changes.'

The next several months were spent havin' plastic surgery done to me. They changed the shape of my eyes, nose, mouth, chin and the size of my breasts. When that was all done, I was sent to wait for my new master in a villa in the French countryside. One day, they dyed my hair brown and taught me how to put the colored contacts in. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself.

Then a few days later, a man arrived with his wife. She seemed so thrilled to be there, so full of life. At least she did until she saw me wearin' her face.

I was forced to watch as my new owner beat his wife until she was barely conscious. Then we went outside and I had to watch as he put a bullet through her brain. And then…dear god…and then he…he took a chainsaw and he…oh my god…he cut her up into little pieces…After he was done doin' that…he…he put the pieces…through a wood chipper. When he was done, they mixed up the body pulp with some mulch and used it to fertilize the roses around the villa.

I was then told that if I displease my new master or _ever_ tell anyone who I truly was that he would do the same to me. The slavers also told me that should anythin' happen to him, that they would come and reclaim me. Especially if he died of anythin' but natural causes.

For the next few weeks I learned to become Georgia Jones and I learned those lessons well. From little things I overheard over the years, I was able to gather that the original Georgia had been unfaithful to Michael and the twins that she had just given birth to were not his. It seems Georgia was unaware that Michael was infertile and could never father children. If she had known, she probably wouldn't have been so careless and she'd still be alive today.

By the time Michael brought me to London, I knew pretty much everythin' that there was to know about Georgia. The big test wasn't gettin' past security and the like; it was meetin' Georgia's twin sister, Ruth. When Ruth started to question who I really was, Michael put a gun to her head and told her that unless she wanted to see the inside of a black bag, she'd keep her trap shut.

After that, it was a routine of me bein' the dutiful house wife and mother and takin' the beatin's in silence. But despite all of the hell I've lived through, there were two bright spots through it all. I got to raise those two beautiful boys as if they were my own and they called me 'Mum.'

Do you want to know what the worst to this whole mess has been? It wasn't the fact that I was stupid enough to sign that contract givin' away my freedom. It wasn't the trainin' or the near daily beatin's or the fact that Shire Stables is now lookin' for me and wants to make me rose food. It's the fact that I will never get to see the boys again and I'll get to say goodbye.

* * *

**Author's notes:** Now, if you remember at the beginning of the movie, Prothero was going on about the problems in the USA and he stated that there had been a plague as well as the second civil war and that's where I got the idea on how to do away with most of Audrey's family. I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but since it's Audrey telling her story, there's very little need to have dialog or descriptive writing. Hope everyone enjoyed and please leave a review. 


	9. Accompaniment

It had taken her over ten minutes just to start telling him her story and then another thirty to complete it. He didn't interrupt even when it took her over ten minutes to describe what had happened to the real Georgia Jones and he had felt the bile rise when she finally did described the woman's fate. He had to satisfy his need for vengeance with reminding himself that Jones was already dead and if V has anything to say about, soon the others that did this to her would be joining him. Preferably very soon.

Her story told and her energy nearly spent, she leans against him for support and he gives it, a bit clumsily at first since he doesn't remember ever having done this before, but he gives it none the less. Though he can't see her face he knows that she's not asleep. He can hear her sniff every once and a while and a shudder occasionally runs through her body.

He's not exactly sure what to do with her now. For nearly two decades he has been by himself and never had to deal with anyone else's problems but his own. How do you fix someone who's given up that last inch? How can he possibly help her get it back?

"V?" her soft voice startles him out of his reverie.

"Yes, Audrey," he replies, glad to finally have a name to call her.

"Would you…stay here with me? Until I fall asleep?" she quietly asks, he can feel her starting to tense. "You wouldn't have to do anythin', just sit here with me."

"Of course," he answers and he hears a sigh of relief escape her.

She slowly pulls away from him and then lies back down. He stands for a moment so that the covers can be pulled back over her. He pauses for a moment and then he sits back down on the edge near the top of the bed. She wiggles around until her forehead is resting against his hip, nearly shocking him right off of the bed. With a contented sigh, she visibly relaxes and within a couple of minutes, she's sound asleep.

He watches for a little while longer before leaving her room and shutting the door behind him. He returns to his own room, strips himself of his mask and wig and then changes out of his tear dampened clothing. Once he's properly attired, he returns to his bed, turns off the light and stares into the darkness as sleep eludes him.

* * *

Dominic stares at his computer screen completely stumped. After going through Jones's bank accounts he's totally blown away. Who in their right mind pays nearly a quarter of a million pounds for an animal? Even if it's an investment, that's way too much money, in his opinion. Of course, living on a coppers salary, he can't even afford a goldfish not that he'd have time for it anyways.

"Morning, Dominic," Finch greets as he walks into the office.

"Oh, good morning, Inspector," Dominic replies

"Find anything interesting?" Finch asks as he hangs his coat on the coat rack.

"Only that Major Jones had way too much money for his own good," Dominic answers as he swivels his computer screen for the older man to see.

"Bloody hell," Finch whispers when he reads the figures. "All that for a horse?"

"I know," Dominic states as he leans back in his chair. "That must be some horse he bought."

"You don't pay that much for a horse and then never do anything with it," Finch grumbles as he plops down into his own seat. "So what happed to that horse?"

"I don't know, I was hoping that Shire Stables could help us on that one," Dominic responds.

"What did you say?" Finch demands, his body suddenly tense.

"I said, 'I don't know, I was hoping that Shire Stables…,'" Dominic starts to repeat.

"He bought that horse from Shire Stables?" Finch asks, looking for all the world like Christmas had just come early.

"Yeah, why?" Dominic replies, completely confused.

"Give me the ownership papers for the horse," Finch orders.

Dominic quickly complies, still not sure what's going on. Finch carefully scans the papers, reading every single line. Just when Dominic is sure he's going to burst with curiosity, a big grin stretches across Finch's face.

"I've got 'em," Finch nearly crows as he shoots straight out of his chair, shaking the papers in triumph above his head. "After more than ten bloody years, I God damn well have 'em by their big, fat, hairy balls!"

"Got who, sir?" Dominic inquires, surprised to say the least by his superior's behavior.

"Shire Stables," Finch laughs, waving the papers right under Dominic's nose. "The biggest, bloody slave traders in all of England, and I've got 'em."

* * *

By the time she drags herself out of bed it's well after noon and he's happily preparing her lunch when she does wander into the kitchen. It takes her sleep fogged brain a good minute of staring to notice what's different about him. He's dressed in his usual attire, though the fact that he's not wearing his gloves doesn't bother her, she's already seen his back and it looks pretty much the same. No, what's got her brain befuddled is the fact that here is a man that can kill without an ounce of remorse cooking and wearing a red, flowery, frilly, familiar looking apron.

"Is that my apron?" she asks without so much as a 'hello.'

"Ah, good afternoon, Audrey," V merrily greets as he flips some type of sandwich over in the pan. "I trust you slept well. And as for the apron, yes, it is yours. I hope you don't mind."

"I slept like a rock," she answers as she steps closer. "I don't mind you usin' the apron, but how did it get here?"

"I used it to tie the compress to your…ah…injury," he explains as he slides her sandwich onto a plate. "I've made you lunch if you're hungry."

"Yes, thank you," she replies.

She comes fully into the kitchen and he waves her to a chair as he puts the plate down. It's only then that he notices that his gloves are off and he hastily puts them on as she pulls out her seat. She sits and starts to eat her lunch, pretending not to notice for which he's grateful. After taking the apron off and hanging it up, he leaves to allow her to eat in peace. When he returns, he finds that she's finished most of her food and is now picking at the remains.

"What happens now?" she asks quietly upon his return. "Are you goin' to give me to Scotland Yard?"

"No, I will not be giving you over to anyone," he replies calmly, though internally he rages at her for making such a suggestion. "For now, you will remain here until I have gathered all of the information I need and then I will decide what is best for you."

"What information do you need?" she inquires barely able to look in his direction.

"I want to know more about Shire Stables," he answers as he sits across from her at the table.

"I don't know anythin'," she replies hastily and he can see her hands starting to tremble.

"Then it is a good thing I have other ways of gathering information," he states as he places one gloved hand over hers which causes her to look up at him, startled. "In all honesty, I am not sure what to do with you. But rest assured, I will let no harm come to you. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Not like I have a lot of choice do I?" she responds as she slouches in her chair, back to staring at nothing.

"No, I'm afraid you don't," he agrees as he gives her hand a pat before withdrawing his own.

They sit in silence for some time with him watching her and her chewing on her lip as she continues to pick at her food. He waits patiently and eventually he is rewarded with her giving him a quick glance and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. He doesn't move, knowing that it's only a matter of time.

"V?" she says softly.

"Yes?" he replies.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asks.

"Of course," he answers, not bothering to point out that she just did ask one.

"Why did you kill him?" she questions, her voice barely above a whisper.

"_The multiplying villainies of nature did swarm upon him,"_ he replies. "Which would one you like to hear?"

"You mentioned somethin' about a lark hill," she says. "What's that?"

"Larkhill was a place that was…for lack of better words…hell on Earth," V vaguely replies.

"It was one of those relocation centers that they took people, wasn't it?" she inquires, quickly putting things together in her head.

"Yes," he replies darkly as the mask dips downward. "But Larkhill was special. It was the first."

"I'm guessin' you weren't one of the guards, were you?" she asks quietly.

"No, I wasn't," he hisses, his anger leaking into his voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," she hastily says, fear evident in not just her voice but in her body language as well.

"My apologies," he quickly says, swiftly reining his ire in. "I did not mean to frighten you. You are correct that I was one of the…detainees."

"And Michael was one of the guards," she states sadly.

"One of many, but one that isn't easily forgotten," he responds, continuing to force himself to relax. "None of them were."

"He did have a way of makin' an…impression on people," she replies.

"In more ways then one," V growls as a shiver runs up her spine and it's at least another minute before she gets the courage to speak again.

"He used to tell me what he did to prisoners when he worked in the camps," she whispers. "He never mentioned which ones he worked at and I wasn't about to ask. I'm sorry."

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for, Audrey," he tells her in an assuring tone. "What he did to his prisoners is nothing for you to be ashamed of."

"I can understand why you'd want to kill him after what he did to you, but I still don't understand why him?" she questions. "I know the other guards were just bad, if not worse in some cases than Michael. So why kill him?"

"Would it upset you to know that he was not the first and he will not be the last?" he counter asks.

"I'm not sure," she replies after a couple moments of silence. "There used to be a time that the mere thought of someone takin' someone else's life was very upsetting. I know the judicial system in this country is a joke and if you were a detainee, then takin' your case to the authorities wouldn't really matter would it? There's no sympathy for those who are different, is there? People like us."

"No, there is no justice for people like us with the current judicial system," he answers quietly. "And that is why I must bring people like Jones to justice."

"How many have there been?"

"Does it really matter?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't. But what do you hope to accomplish with all this death?"

_"Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't," _he quotes and she looks at him funny for a moment before quickly looking away.

"I suppose it really isn't any of my business anyways," she sighs and he nods in agreement.

"Might I inquire what caused you to scream last night," he requests.

"It was a nightmare," she replies, a noticeable shiver running through her body. "I haven't had it in years. I guess when you mentioned Shire Stables it brought it back."

"Remembering what they did to you," he states.

"What was done to her," she clarifies as she takes in a ragged breath and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "They didn't do me any harm really, other than to scare the tar out of me. But what they did to her…"

He gets up from the table and leaves the room only to return a minute later with the box of facial tissues. She gives a sad chuckle as she takes the offered item and wipes away her tears.

"I must seem like a leaky faucet to you," she sighs again as she looks at the wadded up tissue in her hand. "I don't think I've shed a tear in years and here I am just constantly blubberin' all the time now. You must think me such a coward."

_"O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!"_ he quotes at her and she almost looks offended. "In order to defeat your fears you must face them."

"What's the point?" she asks sadly as she rises, she looks at him, but not at his face. "If I ever leave here, I'm nothin' more than a slave again. This place is my sanctuary and my prison all rolled into one, but it's the safest I've felt in years. Strange that. I'm livin' with a man who has murdered who knows how many people and I'm perfectly fine with that."

"You lived with a man who killed his wife for eight years," he points out as she slips past him and leaves the kitchen.

"I wasn't livin' with him," she corrects over her shoulder, startling the vigilante. "We just shared the same cage, that's all."

He watches in silence as she slowly walks across the gallery, amazed that she was able to throw a quote back at him, even if she did alter it a bit.

"What do you intend to do now?" he asks just before she reaches the door that will eventually lead to her room, stopping her in her tracks.

"Would it be all right if I took a bath?" she finally inquires about a minute later, never quite turning around to look at him.

"Of course," he agrees with a nod. "Take as long as you like."

"Thank you," she replies softly just before disappearing through the door.

"You're welcome," he tells the empty air.

Once he's sure she's busy getting ready for her bath, he heads for his dressing room. He starts to assemble a new disguise for a little trip to a pub that he plans to take in the evening. As he's assembling his attire, he notices a blinking light next to the makeup table.

He pauses for a moment to look at it with a slight tilt to his head and then he hurries down the hall towards the monitor room. Upon entering, V quickly turns up the volume to the monitor that shows Audrey's old home. He settles down into his seat to watch Finch and Dominic as they idly stand around as if they're waiting for something.

A few minutes later, a woman who looks startlingly like Georgia Jones and the twins walk into view of the camera. The woman sends the boys upstairs to retrieve their belongings before she greets the detectives standing there waiting. V is about to leave when the woman pulls a piece a paper out of her pocket and hands it to the detective.

"Here, Detective, I think you'll find this interesting," she states quietly as he opens the piece of lined binder paper and starts to read. "It was written by the woman you're looking for. The woman pretending to be my sister."

"You're right," Finch replies as his eyes grow wide. "I find this very interesting."

Suddenly, V's backside seems to glue itself to the chair.

* * *

**Author's notes:** Sorry, life has been insane lately and I was a bit stuck in trying to figure out where this chapter was going. I hope everyone enjoyed it. Hey, what do you know? I actually managed to stick some quotes in here besides that one from Macbeth.

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do (did) swarm upon him,"_ – Macbeth

_"Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't,"_ – Hamlet

_"O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!" _– King Richard III

and the one Audrey altered

"_I'm not living with you! We occupy the same cage, that's all."_ – Cat on a Hot Tin Roof


	10. Binary form

"Can you prove that this is real?" Finch asks Ruth, holding up the page of binder paper.

"Well, it's not my handwriting and it's not my sister's handwriting," Ruth answers. "I also saw the woman who wrote this, write it."

"How do you know she's not your sister?" Finch inquires.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ruth snorts in disbelief. "Georgia was my twin sister. You think I wouldn't know my own sister when I saw her?"

"Why didn't you come forward with this sooner?" Finch questions. "Why didn't you say something when you first noticed the change?"

"There are many things I would like to see in my life, Inspector Finch," Ruth replies a bit heatedly. "The inside of a black bag isn't one of them. That sod that my sister had the misfortune to marry promised me just such a view should I open my mouth. As it is, I am taking a very big chance here giving you this, but the woman who wrote that deserves a better life than what she had"

"So you knew about the beatings?" Finch asks.

"Knew about them?" she laughs bitterly. "Sometimes I got to have a front row seat to them!"

Finch glances over to his partner and sees the muscles in the younger man's jaw working as he tries to contain his anger. Before anymore can be said, the sound of what can only be described as a herd of horses coming down the stairs reaches the ears of the adults. A second later the twins come bursting into the room each carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder and doing their best not to notice the blood on the floor and couch.

"Have you guys got everything you need?" she asks the boys.

"Yeah," the first one answers as the second one nods his agreement.

"Go wait for me in the car, please," she instructs. "I need to talk to the inspector for a bit."

"Sure thing, Aunt Ruth," the second boy says and then they're out the door in a heartbeat.

"Do you know the woman's name?" Finch grills as soon as the door is closed. "Where is she from? Does she have any family? Why was she pretending to be your sister? Any ideas of where she might be?"

"I don't know where she's from or her name or if she has any family and I have no clue to where she might be," she replies. "All I know is that she's not from around here. And as for why she was pretending to be my sister, well, the best answer I can give you is in that paper."

"How did you get this piece of paper?" Finch finally inquires.

"The few times that Michael let the twins and this woman come to visit without him, she and I would sit up and 'talk'," she explains. "We took paper from the boys' notebooks and I would ask questions and she would write her answers. It took forever to get anything out of her, but it meant that the Ear couldn't listen in on her answers and afterwards I would burn the papers. I managed to save this one because I hoped someday that I'd be able to use it to get Michael sent to jail or something. Listen, this woman may not be my sister, but she's the only Mum the boys have ever known. I just hope you can find her and help her. The sooner this is over with, the better. We're all living in a type of limbo right now. As much as I love these kids, my husband and I don't make a lot of money and feeding these two is killing us financially. So please Inspector, find this woman and let her continue pretending to be my sister so the boys will have a real home again or declare her dead so that I can become their legal guardian and their inheritance can pay for their upkeep."

"We'll do our best to find her," Finch tells her.

"Thank you," she says with a small smile. "I better get going before those two decide to teach themselves how to drive my car. Good day, Inspector, Detective."

Ruth quickly leaves and a moment later they hear an auto start up and drive away. Finch looks down at the paper again and then hands it to Dominic. Dominic reads over the paper that as covered front and back with rather shaky hand writing.

"What do you think?" Finch asks Dominic.

"I think this either is one hell of a forgery or it confirms your suspicions about Shire Stables," Dominic answers as he hands the paper back. "What do we do now?"

"We see if they know where she is," Finch replies.

"If they do?" Dominic inquires

"Then she's already dead and we'll be looking for a body," Finch states morbidly.

"And if they don't?" Dominic questions.

"Then we find her before they do," Finch answers, fixing Dominic with a stare that brooks no arguments.

* * *

V sits and watches the monitor for some time after the police officers leave the house. He wants that piece of paper and he wants to know what she wrote. He'd also like to know how the inspector was able to link Audrey to Shire Stables.

As much as he would like to break into Scotland Yard and read that paper, maybe even perchance find those ownership papers, he has other pressing matters at hand. With some half formed plans floating around the back of his head on what to do about Finch and those papers, he returns to his dressing room. He finishes gathering his costume for the evening, making sure everything is just so before he goes to relieve some pent up energy in his play room.

* * *

A couple hours later he reemerges and heads for his bedroom. He passes the bathroom on his way and he can smell the moisture of a long bath coming from the loo. He's glad that she's out so that he may shower and get ready. Remembering how she reacted the last time she had seen him out of his regular clothes, he heads for her room to tell her that he will be leaving shortly.

He steps through the open door and comes face to face with his 'guest'. The instant she sees him, she sinks to the floor to her knees, her head down. Irritated by her reaction to him, he grabs her by her arm and hauls her to her feet. The second he lets go, she goes back down and he drags her back up. After repeating this exercise in futility a few more times, he leaves her down there and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I thought we were past this," he nearly growls, only just containing his anger.

"Past what?" she asks as she lays her cheek on the floor, her damp hair pooling under her head.

"You kneeling at my feet," he states sharply, a bit surprised that she would ask such a question while she was doing such an act.

"I'm not kneelin' at your feet," she replies as she reaches under the bed. "I dropped my earrin' and it bounced under the bed. Gottcha!"

She stands back up and holds the diamond stud out for his inspection. Then she sticks the post through the hole in her ear and attaches the backing. When she's done, she looks at him but can't seem to make her eyes go any higher than his chin.

"You could have told me you lost something under the bed," he points out, slowly allowing his arms to relax.

"You could have asked," she shoots right back, immediately blushes for her boldness and dropping her head to look at his boots.

"You're right, I could have," he chuckles a moment later after getting over the shock of her statement. "How are you feeling now?"

"All right, I guess," she softly replies with a small shrug.

"Good," he nods his approval. "I will be going out shortly and I am not sure when I will return. You are free to do as you please here as long as you do not leave and you do no harm to yourself…"

"…or your home," she quietly finishes for him, trying to ignore the fear that's creeping up from her stomach.

"Correct," he responds proud that she understands but then notices something odd. "You're trembling. Why?"

"They're lookin' for me," she hisses, panic starting to set in and she can feel the blood starting to drain from her face as she hugs herself for comfort. "What if they come while you're gone? What would they do to your home? What would they do to me?"

"I've told you before, they won't find you here," V assures her.

"But how can you be sure?" she insists, her heart racing, her breath starting to come in short pants and she can feel the sting of tears in her eyes. "How can you be sure they won't find this place? They're looking for me. They told me that should I ever escape that they would find me no matter where I hid. That there's no place that I can hide that they can't find."

"You will be perfectly safe here," he reminds her, grabbing hold of her upper arms since she looks to be on the verge of collapsing.

"I'm safe as long as you're here," she tells him, automatically holding onto his arms. "Take me with you."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," he replies.

"Why not?" she demands in a near panicked voice.

"Because I'm planning on spying on the man who runs Shire Stables," he replies and what little color that was in her face is now gone.

He guides her to sit on the bed as her legs pretty much give out. She stares at him with wide eyes as she desperately clings to him.

"Have you gone plumb locco?" she squeaks. "Those men would sooner kill you than to look at you."

"They will never notice me," he states confidently. "I will be perfectly safe. Besides, I'm not interested in confronting them; I'm interested in what they know."

"Shire Stables is out by Guildford, how are you going to get there?" she questions, unable to stop the trembling in her voice.

"I'm not," he replies. "The owner maintains a flat here in London and frequents a pub nearby. That is where I intend to go."

"And you think they're not going to notice you ease dropping on them?" she questions, a death grip now on his arms. "You stick out worse than a sore thumb dressed like that. How can you possibly not notice you?"

"I will change before I leave," he answers calmly. "Remember my attire from the other evening?"

She nods, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She concentrates on getting her heart rate and breathing under control and after a couple of minutes her grip on his arms begins to loosen. He's glad that she's finally calming down and even happier that she's letting go of his limbs since it felt like she was starting to cut off the blood supply to his hands. He knows he's strong, but it seems that when this woman is panicked she's no weakling.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as he pulls away and straightens up.

"For what?" he asks, his head tilting to the side.

"For being such a bother," she sniffs as she stares at the floor. "I never wanted to be a burden to anyone, but here I am. Helpless. What good am I?"

"You have been recovering from your injury," he points out as he looks down at the back of her head.

"I've been fine for some time now," she points out. "But all I do is sit around and cower in the corner."

"And what a delightful corner it was," he replies and she looks up at him questioningly. "Come, I didn't finish showing it to you last time."

He holds out his hand and she tentatively takes it after a few moments. He helps her to her feet and then leads her back out into the main part of the gallery until they're standing in front of the jukebox. He gently guides her until she's able to look down onto the selection list.

"There aren't a lot of songs," she observes.

"Not yet," he responds. "I will get more. Who knows, there may be more somewhere around here just waiting for you to find them for me."

"So why are you showing me this again?" she asks.

"I would like you to make the first selection," he answers.

"Me?" she questions a confused frown wrinkling her brow. "But it's your jukebox."

"Ah, but it's not really mine," he points out. "I have simply reclaimed it from one of Sutler's warehouses."

"Reclaimed it?" she questions, an eyebrow arching up at him.

"Everything here has been labeled as 'objectionable material'," he answers as he waves a hand around the room. "I have rescued them so that someday the people will get to see them again."

"And how are you goin' to make Sutler change his mind about all of this stuff?" she inquires as she tries not to blush at her audacity.

"I won't," he responds and his voice suddenly becomes darker as his hands ball into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. "But Sutler won't live forever. Someday the vox populi will have its voice once again."

She says nothing in return, but stares back down at the jukebox.

"But I'm frightening you once again," he sighs when he turns his attention back to her. "My apologies. Now, please, make a selection."

"But you did all of the work," she points out a few moments later.

"But if it weren't for you, it would still be sitting in my storage room," he counters.

"All I did was hide under the tarp like the coward I am," she reminds him.

"And if you hadn't, it would still be there," he reiterates. "And you're not a coward. You have been treated poorly in the past and your fears simply got the better of you."

"You really want me to make the first selection?" she asks.

"Yes, please," he answers, relaxing muscles now that he feels he's won that small battle.

She stares down at the selection of songs for a little while longer and then with still hesitant fingers she pushes the first two buttons. One last glance over at V to assure herself that she has permission, which he gives with a slight nod and she presses the last button. A second later the speakers hiss to life with electricity as the selected vinyl record is moved into position and starts to spin. A few moments later and the room is filled with Nat King Cole's voice and a nostalgic look comes over her face.

_Unforgettable, that's what you are  
Unforgettable though near or far  
Like a song of love that clings to me  
How the thought of you does things to me  
Never before has someone been more_

_Unforgettable in every way  
And forever more, that's how you'll stay  
That's why, darling, its incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am unforgettable too_

"Why this song?" he asks during the musical interlude.

"It was my parent's song," she quietly replies with a sad smile. "I remember them singing it to each other at the oddest moments when I was a child."

_Unforgettable in every way  
And forever more, that's how you'll stay  
That's why, darling, its incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am unforgettable too_

"Thank you," she softly says when the jukebox goes silent once more. "I think I'll go get my laundry started."

With that she wanders away and disappears down the corridor leading to the bedrooms. He watches after her for a moment and then gives the jukebox an affectionate caress before heading off to the bathroom. A short time later, he is dressed for his outing and as he crosses through the gallery towards the exit, he can hear her from down one of the many hallways softly singing her parent's song.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to _Unforgettable_, words and music by Irving Gordon.

**Author's notes:** My apologies for taking so long with this chapter. It's summer vacation and the kids are out of school. Oh joy. I'm going on vacation for a week but I hope to be able to borrow hubby's lap top to work on my stories. As always, please review.


	11. Polyphonic

She's quietly singing to herself as she transfers her wet clothes from the washer to the dryer when she hears the shutting of a far off door. She goes completely still and listens. She barely breaths for several minutes as she waits for some small sound too indicate if V is still around.

When no other sound but that of her pounding heart and her own breathing reach her ears, she very cautiously creeps out of the laundry room and searches the Shadow Gallery for any other signs of life. She doesn't find so much as a spider, much less another human being in the place and she can feel a cold chill run down her spine. She takes several deep breaths to try and calm herself as she reminds herself of what V said. No one can find her here, she is safe.

It takes her nearly ten minutes of just concentrating on her breathing to stave off a panic attack, but in the end it's worth it. She's still a bundle of nerves, but now she's not about to go hide under the furniture. She turns to go back to the laundry room and to her ears the sound of her foot step loudly echoes off of the walls.

She stands still again for a minute before turning back to the main area of the gallery. She quickly heads towards the jukebox and looks down at the small selection of songs. There are only fifty-four songs, twenty-seven forty-five records are in there, not a lot, but it's going to have to do.

Starting with the first selection, she starts pushing buttons. By the time she's done selecting every single song in the jukebox, the first song is about half way done. She gives a sigh of relief for now she doesn't feel so alone.

She goes back to the laundry room and returns to her previous task, still a bit jumpy, but not terrified out of her wits. Once she's got the washer and dryer going, she returns to the main part of the gallery and looks around. She's filled with nervous energy and she needs to do something with it or she's going to go crazy, she knows it.

She's used to cleaning up after a master and two boys that don't seem to know how to return dishes to the kitchen or what a hamper is for, so living with V has been an experience. The man is neat to the point of being more neurotic than her, but she needs to do something with this energy. Finally, her gaze falls onto an object that seems to be a bit out of place and she goes to take a closer look.

Just as she thought, the item is scuffed and dirty as if someone has been beating on the poor thing. She circles it, looking it up and down until she's satisfied with what she sees. She goes off to find the items she'll need and returns shortly, ready to give that old suit of armor the polishing of its metallic life.

* * *

In an older part of London called the Hatton Garden area is a small pub nestled into a hole-in-the-wall spot that if one is not careful, is easily missed. An elderly man wearing a nice suit even if it is slightly out of fashion with elegant brown leather gloves covering his hands comes limping into the Olde Mitre Tavern, the silver tip of the cane he uses to help him walk makes a loud enough 'thunk' on the hardwood floor to be heard over the general mummer of voices in the establishment. Heads turn towards the new comer, taking in the old man with the full beard, bushy white hair and wearing a fedora and dark sunglasses, they turn back towards their drinks and return to their previous activities.

The old man steps up to the bar, orders himself a pint and then after paying the barkeep, finds a nice dark quiet corner to sit in. From his spot, the old man can see the front bar, the bar in the back and the stairs that leads up to an overflow area. He relaxes into his seat with his hat pushed down to cover his forehead casting him further into the shadows. He nurses his drink and he seems to sink into his own little world.

* * *

An hour later, the old man seems to have fallen asleep in his seat, but since the table isn't in demand yet, the barkeep leaves him be for now. Shortly before tea time, a group of six men enters the pub, pass by the bar and head for the stairs. As they pass by the old man's table, one of the men accidentally jostles it, startling the man awake.

With a snort, the old man suddenly sits up, pushes his hat back and looks around, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He seems to be disoriented for a few moments as the group of men moves on up the stairs. Shortly after they disappear up the steps, the old man staggers to his feet and begins to wander off.

The barkeep is too busy with filling a pitcher with ale to notice the confused man wandering up the stairs. Stumbling a few times up the steps, the old man finally makes it to the top to find himself in another room filled with chairs and tables and the six men already making themselves to home at a large table in the middle of the room. When they see the stranger invading their turf, the two largest ones quickly move to intercept the interloper.

Before the old man can even blink, the thugs grab him and slam him against a wall. Instinctively, the man throws one arm up to protect his face and the other back against the wall for balance.

"What's going on?" the man sitting at the head of the table demands from his seat.

"We've got ourselves a party crasher, boss," one of the obvious body guards replies.

"I'm just trying to find the bathroom," a feeble old voice says from behind the wall of muscle.

"Let him go, boys," the boss orders and the body guards back off, but not far. "The bathroom's downstairs, old man."

"Yes, thank you," the gentleman replies as he regains his balance and quickly retrieves his dropped cane. "Sorry to disturb you."

The old man beats a hasty retreat down the stairs as a pretty young server comes up with a tray of glasses and a couple pitchers of ale. Behind her is another young woman with another tray filled with finger foods. When the first girl sees the gentleman coming down the stairs, she stops dead in her tracks nearly causing the young lady behind her to plow into her back and drop the food.

"Oh, sir, you're not allowed up there," the gal gasps as the man gets closer.

"Yes, I was able to figure that out for myself, thank you," the old man nearly growls as he squeezes past the young lovelies while he goes down the stairs as fast as his old legs will carry him.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the man quickly looks around and finds the sign for the restrooms. As swiftly as possible, he heads in that direction and disappears through the men's room door, locking it behind him.

Once he's through, he takes his hat off and fiddles with the band for a moment until he can hear the faint buzz of voices emanating from the hat. He puts the accessory back on and his very sensitive hearing can clearly pick up the voices in the room he was just forced out of. He makes a couple minor adjustments to the receiver and then leaves the bathroom.

He slowly limps his way through the tavern, giving only a passing glance at the table that he had recently vacated. His glass is long gone and three gentlemen now occupy the space, which is fine with the man since he has completed his task. With great purpose, V leaves the pub and makes his way to a nearby park where he takes a seat on a bench.

He pretends to people watch, when in fact he's listening to one Mr. Thomas Percy and associates of Shire Stables. His bug so cleverly hidden in plane sight in that upstairs room, a lesson well learned from his guest. The tiny little instrument is no bigger than a fly and in fact, it even looks like one, stuck to the wall when V was slammed against it earlier. It brings a whole new meaning to being a 'fly on the wall.'

V settles into his new seat and listens as the men prattle on about nothing interesting at first. After listening for an hour of them going on about their girlfriends and families and their favorite sports teams, V is beginning to wonder if maybe this night will be a bust. Not that it matters really since he has plans on returning to the pub after hours and adding a bit to the décor with a hidden camera.

"Well, well, well," Percy chuckles, V can practically hear the smirk on the man's face. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"G-g-g-good evening, Mr. Percy," a nervous voice greets.

"Well, Bobby, what have you got for me?" Percy demands.

"Nothing I'm afraid, sir," Bobby answers, his voice shaking.

"Nothing? NOTHING?" Percy yells and V hears something slam down on the table causing the plates and glasses to clink and clatter, probably a fist. "What do you mean you've got nothing? It's been three bloody weeks it has and you still haven't found the little bint. How the hell is that possible?"

"I don't know, sir," Bobby quails. "It's almost as if she's vanished into thin air."

"Don't give me that load of bollocks, ya git," Percy snarls. "Has she gotten out of London?"

"No, sir," Bobby quickly replies with some measure of relief. "Of that I'm sure of. There's no way out of London that we don't know about, but she could be anywhere in London."

"Who the hell would take her in?" Percy growls. "We know she's not with the brats' aunt. She doesn't have any friends, Jones made sure of that."

"Maybe the bloke who did Jones in still has her," another man's voice suggests. "Maybe that's why he killed Jones in the first place. He heard what a sweet ride that girl was and wanted a piece for himself. Maybe he heard of some of some of the tricks her first handlers had taught her."

"Then why wait for when she was leaving on a trip to see the aunt?" Percy snaps. "Besides, Jones never sampled her wares. He wasn't into that sort of thing. No, the man who killed Jones had another reason for killing him, not that I blame him. Jones was a prat and a complete ass to boot. But I want that girl found and I want her found _now_!"

"Y-y-y-yes, sir," Bobby stammers and V can almost hear the man sweating.

"This is your last chance, Bobby," Percy warns with a growl. "Fail me again and it'll be the last mistake you make."

"I won't fail you again, sir," Bobby swears and the sound of foot steps quickly retreating fills V's ear.

"Bloody git," Percy softly snarls and the others chuckle.

The conversation returns to trivial things and V considers returning home when the sound of a man's footsteps interrupts the men talking.

"Well, Jack, what brings you all the way out here?" Percy asks, the sound of pleasure filling his voice.

"Great news, Mr. Percy," Jack answers happily. "I just got word that the agency that gets fillies for the bishop is looking for a new supplier. It seems the old supplier can't keep up with demand."

"That is good news," Percy purrs. "This may be our big chance to be protected by the big man himself. If we can get that contract, we'll be living the really sweet life. No more worries about the coppers or the Finger getting into our business. How many young fillies do we have in the stables right now, Tommy?"

"We sold the last lot, but we have at least three that are about to go into training," Tommy replies. "Though, they were going to be trained for general purposes. Would you like them to be specially trained, sir?"

"Any of them wild caught?" Percy questions.

"One wild caught, the other two were bred in our stables," Tommy answers.

"Leave the wild one to the normal training and special train the other two," Percy decides after a moment. "I know the bishop likes his fillies with a little spunk, but he doesn't want them to have too much fight in them. He likes to ride them rough, but he hates to get bucked off."

"I'll see to it first thing in the morning, sir," Tommy assures his boss. "Would you like me to go about acquiring any more fillies?"

"No, we don't want the competition to know that we're trying to get that contract," Percy replies. "How many fillies do we have that are almost old enough to start training?"

"By the end of the year we'll have four more," Tommy responds. "There will be at least six more by the middle of next year."

"How are the mares doing?" Percy inquires.

"They're doing great," Tommy replies. "We've got three more confirmed pregnancies, five that will be giving birth within the next month and six that are just about ready to be bred."

"Excellent," Percy sighs happily. "Now if Bobby would just find that little bitch that got away, everything will be perfect."

V has heard enough for now. With a pounding heart and trembling hands, he carefully gets up from the bench, barely remembering the role he's supposed to be playing. He leaves the receiver on while he makes his slow way back home, wanting nothing more than to go back into that pub and end the existence of those miserable curs. However, he knows that won't solve his problem with Audrey, so with deliberate care, he makes his way back to the underground.

* * *

Before he even opens the door, V can hear music coming from his home. He's slightly annoyed at first but then remembers that he gave her permission to do as she likes. Without another thought to the jukebox, he quietly opens the door and enters his home, locking the door behind him.

He takes off his hat, absently turning off the receiver as he looks around the main part of the gallery trying to find his guest. His gaze lands on the suit of armor and stares at it stunned. It shines to the point where it nearly glows and he carefully approaches one of his favorite opponents.

"She did a beautiful job on you, didn't she, Mondego?" he softly asks as he carefully examines the polished metal.

As he's circling his fat metal friend, a most delightful smell wafts past his nose. He inhales deeply and turns towards the kitchen. He silently enters the room, there's a large pan on the stove with what appears to be pork chops simmering in some type of sauce that smells of rosemary and lemon with slices of lemon on top of each chop. Audrey doesn't hear him enter as she has her back to the door and she's too busy mashing the potatoes to be paying attention.

"It smells wonderful," he states as he steps up behind her.

She lets out a startled shriek and the masher goes flying through the air, hitting V square in the chest on its way down as she nearly jumps straight out of her skin. One look over her shoulder and she sees a stranger staring down at the glob of partially mashed potato on his front. She screams and quickly back peddles herself into a corner.

"This isn't exactly the homecoming I was expecting," the man states as he scoops up the white glob on his tie onto his fingertip and sticks it into his mouth. "But I guess it's better than you throwing my own knives at me. It could use a bit more salt."

"V?" she finally manages to squeak out as he picks up the masher off of the floor.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he counters with an all too familiar head tilt.

"Good heavens, you about scared the livin' daylights out of me," she admonishes as she starts to get her body to move again.

"My apologies, it was not my intention to startle you," he replies as he hands her the masher and slightly tilts his body forward.

She says nothing but takes the device being handed to her and goes to the sink to wash it. He cleans up the mess on the floor and then watches her intently. After observing her clean the masher, he notices the muscles in her jaw working, but she remains quiet and he lets out a frustrated puff of air.

"Say it," he orders.

"Say what?" she asks as she finishes rinsing the item in her hand.

"You want to say something, so say it," he retorts and she looks at his chin for a good thirty seconds before turning back to her potatoes.

"I want to put a big bell around your neck so you can't be sneakin' up on me any more," she mumbles into the pot, turning nearly as red as the roots of her hair.

He chuckles at her comment and leans against the counter.

"Are you talking about a round jiggle bell, like a cat wears or a cow bell?" he asks, amusement coloring his voice.

"I guess it would depend on which one would look better with black," she jokes back, a small smile gracing her lips though she's still blushing furiously.

Before he can respond to that, the timer on the stove goes off and she turns to deal with the pork chops, leaving the masher in the potatoes. He picks up where she left off on the spuds, adding a pinch of salt as she transfers the meat onto a platter. By the time she's done getting the heavy plate over onto the table, he has finished the potatoes and is scooping them into a bowl that had been sitting nearby.

"You didn't have to do that," she tells him when she sees what he's doing.

"It's the least I could do," he replies as he puts the bowl down next to the platter. "Do I smell bread?"

"Oh, jeez, the rolls!" she nearly panics and swiftly turns back to the oven, yanking the door open. "Thank heavens they didn't burn."

She grabs a pair of oven mitts and quickly slips them on before pulling out a pan of homemade rolls, she then dumps them into a basket lined with a towel and puts it on the table. Meanwhile, he takes out a casserole dish with broccoli and cauliflower smothered in a thick cheese sauce and places it on a waiting trivet on the table. V looks at the food laid out before him and smells their delicious aromas while his stomach not so subtly reminds him that it's been quite some time since he's eaten.

"May I join you in your repast?" he asks politely, not wishing to intrude on her supper.

"Please do," she answers as she waves at a spot on the table near where he's standing. "That's why I put out two place settings. I know you don't normally eat with me, but I do so hate eating alone and quite frankly the stove isn't a very good conversationalist."

"Then I would be delighted to break bread with you," he states as he pulls out a chair for her to sit on before taking his own. "As I stated before, it smells wonderful. May I ask what this dish is called?"

"San Francisco Style Pork Chops," she replies as she begins to serve herself. "My grandmother taught me that recipe when I was living with her."

"What are these strange dark bits in the potatoes?" he inquires as he puts a spoon full onto his plate.

"It's either the pepper or chives," she states as she adds butter to her roll. "You know, with all those wonderful vegetables you have in your garden, I'm surprised you don't have any herbs."

"I have all the herbs you could possibly need in the cupboard," he replies as he waves his hand towards the aforementioned place.

"Yes, I know, but those are all dried," she points out while she starts to cut into her meat. "Fresh herbs taste so much better than the dried stuff. You should try it some time."

"I will keep that in mind," he states just before he takes his first bite. "This is very good. Would you be willing to share the recipe with me?"

"If you like," she agrees, smiling that he likes what she made.

"You're a very good cook, Audrey," he states after they have eaten for a few minutes in silence.

"Thank you," she replies shyly, slightly blushing from the compliment. "Michael didn't think so, but he usually liked his food bland."

"Speaking of the unlamented Major Jones, may I ask you a personal question?" he inquires.

"I suppose so," she answers.

"I was listening in on a conversation between the owner of Shire Stables and one of his lackeys," he starts to explain and she nervously drops her fork making a loud clattering noise as it hits her plate. "From what they were saying I was given the impression you and the major never had coital relations."

"We never had what?" she asks in confusion.

"To put it bluntly, you never had sex," he states and her eyes get wider as her face turns bright red. "I did state it was a personal question."

"I didn't think it would be _that_ personal," she mutters as a shiver runs through her body. "You're right, Michael never required me to use that part of my training. I suppose I should be thankful that I never had to endure his attentions in the bedroom."

"Yet the night I removed Jones from this Earthly realm, he was preparing your home for a clandestine meeting," he says as she shakily picks up her fork and takes another bite. "The police are currently looking for his mistress."

"His mistress?" she laughs, nearly spitting food across the table. "Someone better tell them they're lookin' in the wrong half of the human population."

"Wait, do you mean that Jones was…," he starts.

"As queer as a three dollar bill?" she finishes for him. "You can bet your sweet bippy on that one."

"But he was married," he states.

"And you think he's the only homosexual to get married to save his or her own skin?" she questions with a raised eyebrow.

"So you knew about the meeting that night?" he inquires.

"Not only did I know about it, Michael made sure that I knew every lurid detail of what they planned to do in the bed we slept in," she nearly snarls. "Maybe I'm a prude, but I just do not enjoy hearing about other peoples sexual exploits."

"I understand," he says softly, tilting his chin downwards. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

She nods her acceptance and they continue eating for a while in silence.

"I must thank you for polishing Mondego," he suddenly states, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Who?" she asks, confused.

"The suit of armor," he clarifies. "You did a lovely job. I must confess that I haven't done it in some time."

"You named the suit of armor Mondego?" she questions, not sure whether or not she should laugh.

"Yes, I did," he responds in a tone that states laughing might not be a good idea.

"It took quite a bit of time to get him cleaned up," she tells him. "He was covered with all manner of scuffs and scrapes. It's like someone wailed on the poor thing with something."

"Oh really?" he questions, glad that the latex mask hides his embarrassment.

"But you know that wasn't the strangest thing about cleaning Mondego?" she asks as she pushes away from the table and picks up her empty plate.

"And what was the strangest thing about cleaning him?" he questions back as he takes his last bite of food.

"I found a _Watchmen_ comic book stuffed down one the legs," she answers and V chokes.

* * *

**Author's notes**: Sorry this took a while. I was on vacation and I was trying to write a chapter for another story. Unfortunately for that story and fortunately for you dear readers, my muse decided she wanted to work on this story instead. If anyone is interested in the recipe for San Francisco Style Pork Chops, please let me know and I'll send it to you or if enough people express an interest, I'll just post it on my author's page. Thanks for reading and please feed the muse with a review. 


	12. Accent

"Are you alright?" she asks worriedly as he coughs a few times before clearing his throat loudly.

"Yes, I'm quite fine, thank you," V assures her as he hurriedly stands up. "I'm going to change now. Leave the dishes; I'll take care of them."

"No, that's alright," she responds. "I don't mind doin' them. It gives me somethin' to do."

"Than I shall help you clean up after I get changed," he states. "I should be but a few minutes."

"That's alright, I can do it," she replies as she starts to pull storage containers out of a neatly arranged cupboard.

"I insist," he responds a bit forcefully as he starts towards the door. "It's the least I can do after that lovely meal."

"Alright, if you want," she says meekly as he leaves.

He returns a few minutes later in his normal attire, barely noticing the jukebox softly playing in the background. He finds that the food has been put away and she's starting to wash the dishes. Without a word, he picks up a towel and starts to dry. They stand there in companionable silence until the last of the dishes are dried and put away.

"Would you care to watch a movie with me?" he asks without preamble.

"I don't know," she answers nervously. "I feel like I should be doin' somethin'."

"Like what?" he inquires.

"Cleanin' or somethin'," she replies, starting to fidget.

"I can assure you that my home is quite clean," he states, a bit put out that she would think otherwise.

"What about the suit of armor?" she asks.

"Mondego is the exception to the rule," he responds as he starts to move towards the gallery.

"I just feel I need to do somethin'," she repeats, following.

"Why?" he questions, stopping just after he's exited the kitchen.

"To keep busy," she replies normally enough, but then her voice starts dropping to just above a whisper. "To earn my keep. Unless you want somethin' else from me."

"What would I require from you?" he asks, perplexed as she halts beside him.

"Personal services," she barely chokes out, staring at her feet in shame, her body trembling and audibly swallowing.

He stares at her in confusion, his mask giving away nothing as he watches her turn bright red and then comprehension dawns on him.

"I will never require the use of those talents from you," he assures her. "You are safe here from all manner of attacks on your person."

"Thank you," she sighs, her shoulders sagging with relief.

"You are quite welcome," he replies, a bit relieved himself that she's likely to be a little less jumpy around him. "Now about that movie…"

"The jukebox is still playin'," she points out.

"In that case, would you care to dance?" he inquires.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she answers, looking embarrassed again, but not ashamed.

"And why would that be?" he asks.

"Because as big and as strong and as fast as you are, I'm afraid your feet would be in danger," she admits. "I can't dance."

"Anyone with a sense of rhythm can dance," he states as he reaches for her hand. "And trust me when I say you have rhythm."

"Whether or not I have rhythm is beside the point," she replies as she pulls away from him. "I have two left feet and I'll just end up stompin' all over yours. One thing they tried to teach me was to dance and even their best dance teacher said I was hopeless."

"Did they also teach you to sing and play guitar?" he questions.

"No, Momma always said a proper young lady should be able to play some instrument so she made sure I had lessons growin' up," she answers with a sad smile. "The singin' was a bonus. Of course she also said that young ladies should know how to be graceful and dance. I'm about as graceful on the dance floor as a one legged man in a butt kickin' contest."

V chuckles and she smiles back at him, managing to briefly look up into the eyes of the mask for a few seconds. The smile under the mask nearly matches the one on it and he's actually glad to see the real woman hiding under all of that 'training' starting to emerge. He still has no clue to what he's going to do with her, but for now that will wait.

"Then I suppose we are back to watching a movie," he says a few moments later. "This song shouldn't last too much longer."

"I'm not so sure about that," she responds, looking a bit embarrassed again.

"And why is that?" he asks with a sigh.

"Well…" she hesitates, her cheeks turning bright pink. "This place is awfully quiet when you're not here and I get a bit…nervous when you're gone, so I decided to program the jukebox to play a few of the songs."

"How many of the songs?" he inquires.

"All of them," she mumbles.

"When did you do this?" he questions with an amused head tilt.

"Right before you came home," she admits, blushing even more.

"How many times have you done this?" he asks.

"Three times," she quietly answers. "Are you angry?"

"No, but it does seem we do have a bit of time on our hands," he replies. "But what shall we do with it?"

"Could you give me somethin' to do?" she asks hesitantly after about a minute. "I can't just sit around all day. I need somethin' to do or I'm sure I'll go out of my mind."

"Yes, perhaps a project would help keep you occupied," he agrees after a moment of thinking. "The problem is what is there for you to do? I do not require your services in cooking and cleaning, though I would not mind you taking up the reins in making dinner should I not be here. Let me think on it and I will let you know."

"Thank you," she sighs with relief. "I am curious about somethin'."

"Yes?" he asks.

"Where did you get all of these things?" she inquires, waving her hand around the gallery. "I may not have finished high school, but I do know that some of this stuff must be priceless. How can you afford all of this?"

"Ah, but I do not own these treasures," he answers, happy to talk about the pieces of artwork that decorate his home. "I am simply storing them until they can be returned to the people one day. Would you like me to tell you about them?"

"Yes, please," she replies with a smile.

For the next couple hours he shows her the wonders in his home, regaling her with stories of their history and how he came to have them. The time passes quickly as the jukebox plays on.

* * *

V checks in on Audrey several hours later and finds her peacefully sleeping like she was when he left, completely unaware that he's been gone for a couple hours. He has just returned from the pub after adding the surveillance equipment he needs to keep an eye on Percy and his men. Sooner or later, he's going to remove those miserable curs from this plane of existence, but for now he'll wait and watch. He is, after all, a very patient man.

After assuring himself that she's resting, he heads for his monitor room where he finishes the job he started. After making sure all the wiring is secure, he turns on the monitor and is rewarded with a view of a darkened room filled with tables and chairs. With a satisfied nod, he returns to his room, changes and then climbs into his own bed. Within moments Somnus lulls him into slumber and Morpheus weaves him dreams of dancing pork chops and knights in shining armor.

* * *

"Audrey," V says as he dries the last of the dishes and puts it away.

"Yes, V?" she responds as she rinses out the sink.

"I have a request," he states.

"Um…ok, what is it?" she asks a bit nervously.

"Would you do me the honor of playing a song for me?" he requests.

"Oh," she says, startled. "If you like, I guess I could play somethin'. I'm a little out of practice."

"Really?" he questions with a curious tilt to his head, slight amusement in his voice. "From what I've heard, you play very well."

"Oh, I make mistakes all over the place," she readily admits.

"If you do not wish to play, I will not force you," he assures her. "But I would very much like to hear you sing again. You have a very pleasant voice."

"Thank you," she blushes and pauses for a few moments. "When would you like me to play?"

"Would now be too soon?" he inquires.

"I guess not," she hesitantly replies.

"Good," he says with a decisive nod as he turns to leave. "Then I shall meet you in the TV room, shall I?"

"Yeah, I guess that'll do," she shyly agrees as he leaves the room. "I'll be there in a bit."

She stands there clinging to the edge of the sink, trying not to collapse in a heap since her knees have now taken to shaking and she's not sure that they can hold her up if she lets go. She tries to swallow but her mouth is too dry and it feels like there's about a million butterflies in her stomach trying to get out. She hasn't felt like this since right before her first recital when she was ten and thoughts of that unmitigated disaster do nothing to help calm her nerves.

She spends several minutes taking deep breaths in an attempt to stave off a panic attack and hyperventilating. She's not sure how much time has passed before she gets the courage up to let go of the sink and take a few tentative steps out of the room. When she doesn't immediately collapse, she gives a small sigh of relief and carefully makes her way to her room.

She retrieves her guitar and nervously makes her way to the TV room. The butterflies in her stomach seem to have multiplied and are currently bungee jumping in her stomach. She swallows the lump in her throat and sits at the other end of the couch from V, carefully placing her guitar case on the floor.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind," he states, not unkindly.

"It's been a very long time since I've played in front of an audience," she replies nervously as she opens the case. "I guess I'm just a bit jittery."

"You don't have to play if you don't wish," he reminds her while she pulls the guitar onto her lap. "I will not force you."

"No, that's ok, I don't mind," she hastily responds as she starts to tune it. "If this is what you want me to do, then I'll do it. It's the least I can do. Is there anythin' in particular you want to hear?"

"What songs do you know?" he asks, fascinated as she carefully tunes the instrument.

"I know a lot of songs, but only a few by heart," she answers while she concentrates on tweaking a particular tuning peg.

"Then, if you wouldn't mind, please play me one of later," he requests as she strums a few cords and makes a few more adjustments.

She plays a few more notes as she's thinking, making final adjustments, almost thoughtlessly. She casts one last glance at V and then slightly readjusts the guitar in her lap and then starts to play a quiet, gentle tune. As she concentrates on her music and playing, the butterflies calm, her mouth moistens itself and her nerves calm. After a few bars, her courage gathered, she opens her mouth and sings.

**Imagine there's no heaven  
It's easy if you try  
No hell below us  
Above us only sky  
Imagine all the people  
Living for today...**

**Imagine there's no countries  
It isn't hard to do  
Nothing to kill or die for  
And no religion too  
Imagine all the people  
Living life in peace...**

**You may say I'm a dreamer  
But I'm not the only one  
I hope someday you'll join us  
And the world will be as one**

**Imagine no possessions  
I wonder if you can  
No need for greed or hunger  
A brotherhood of man  
Imagine all the people  
Sharing all the world...**

**You may say I'm a dreamer  
But I'm not the only one  
I hope someday you'll join us  
And the world will live** **as one**

As the final notes fade away, V raises his hands and claps in appreciation for the mini concert she's given him. She bows her head humbly and smiles shyly, obviously pleased that he enjoyed her performance. She mindlessly continues strumming the guitar, unable to think of what to do next.

"I saw that you have some sheet music in your case," he says, startling her out of her mindless wanderings. "May I see them?"

"Oh, sure," she agrees as she reaches into the case and pulls out the sheets, handing them over to him.

"I see you have them alphabetically arranged," he notes after looking through the half a dozen pieces of music.

"It's somethin' I've learned to do since I became a…," she starts, hesitant to finish. "It helped me."

"How did it help you?" he inquires as he hands the music back.

"It was one of the few things I had control over in my life," she explains while she neatly puts the sheets back in the case. "As a bonus, Michael liked it, so as long as everythin' remained neat and organized, I didn't have to be taught a lesson."

"Namely another beating," he clarifies.

"Right," she quietly replies and he can see she's starting to get fidgety again.

"How did you get the guitar?" he questions. "I can't imagine the major would just let you go out and buy one and you did state that he didn't know you had it."

"Every once and a while I would be allowed to go to Ruth's with the boys without Michael taggin' along," she softly answers, her fingers aimlessly strumming across the strings. "Ruth and I would sit up late into the night and she would ask me questions and I would write out my answers on a piece of binder paper. I let it slip one time that I play and I missed it. About a week after that, Ruth showed up on our doorstep sayin' that they needed money because one of their appliances had broken and they didn't have the money to fix it or replace it. Michael was always grumblin' about how he was supportin' two families since every time Ruth and her husband needed money they came to us and what a failure Ruth's husband is. But he gave them the money and then completely forgot about it. A few weeks later, Ruth showed up again in the middle of the day when she should have been at work. She had lied to Michael about the appliance and had used the money to buy me a guitar. She had no reason to and if Michael ever found out it would be my hide and her head, but she did it anyways. Over time, she bought me the sheets of music, too. I don't know why she did it. I'm not her sister and by all rights she should hate me, but here she was riskin' her own neck for me. I still don't understand why she did it."

"Perhaps she felt that you had suffered enough and that her scorn would serve no purpose," he suggests.

"I guess that's possible," she sighs. "I've seen so much hate in this world it really surprises me when someone does somethin' so kind."

They sit there for a while; neither of them talking as she randomly plays bits and pieces of different songs. He watches her fingers in fascination as they play across the strings like dancers on a stage, each knowing its place and rarely making a faltering step. He looks down at his own hands and balls his hands into fists, causing the leather of his gloves to creak in protest. He realizes that he would never be able to play such an instrument, at least not when someone else is around since the gloves would only get in the way of playing and he is not about to display his hands to others. With a small frustrated puff of air, he looks back up first at her and then down at the sheets of music in the case.

"Audrey," he says, startling her out of her playing so badly that her fingers make a discordant sound causing them both to flinch. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's ok," she assures him. "What do you want?"

"You stated last night that you would like to have a project to do," he states as a plan quickly forms in his head. "Are you still willing to help me?"

"Yes, of course I am," she eagerly replies. "What is it?"

"Why don't you put your guitar away and then meet me in the art storage room," he instructs as he gracefully gets to his feet.

"Alright," she agrees, giving him a questioning look.

He turns and walks away without further explanation and she's left quickly taking the guitar out of tune before returning it to its case. She hurriedly stores the instrument back in her room before heading down the hall to the room she had been instructed to meet him in. She walks in not sure what she'll find, but she certainly wasn't expecting what she sees when she walks in the door.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the rights to Imagine, lyrics and music written by John Lennon.

**Author's Notes:** Well what do you know? I'm still alive! I tell you this school being out thing is totally putting a cramp on my writing. At any rate, please leave a review and I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible.


	13. Consonance

Audrey isn't sure what to expect to see when she walks into the art storage room, but V's backside sticking out from under an antique desk isn't even on the list. She stares in shock at the well shaped body part, not sure what to make of the situation while a small part in the back of her brain is admiring the view. Before the rest of her mind can catch up with what that little corner is doing, V crawls out from under the desk and stands.

"Ah, good, you've arrived," he states as he brushes himself off and then waves her towards him. "I am almost done and once I've completed my task, you may begin yours."

"Ok," she replies hesitantly as she approaches him. "What do you want me to do?"

"I would like you to catalog all of the artwork I've recovered," he tells her as reaches inside of a box and pulls out a flat screen computer monitor.

"All of it?" she squeaks, looking at the vast room that's virtually filled with his 'recovered' pieces of art.

"Well, most of it any rate," he answers as he connects cables to the back of the computer tower. "I've done some already, but I'm afraid that I haven't had time to complete the job. I have other things that are in need of my attention and I just don't have time to do this one thing. I would greatly appreciate it if you could do it for me."

"I suppose I could try," she responds as she watches him finish assembling the computer. "But I'm afraid I don't know anything about art."

"That is quite alright," he replies as he turns the machine on. "You'll be connected to the InterLink and I have plenty of books for you to go through. I created a program to help organize the cataloging, so all you have to do is put in the data and the computer will do the rest. It's really quite simple."

"If you say so," she replies nervously.

"Here, have a seat," he offers with a wave of his hand.

He pulls a desk chair over, she takes a seat and then he scoots her up to the desk. He proceeds shows her how to get into the program, to get onto the InterLink and what sites are best for the work she will be doing. He leans over her as he shows her what to do and she can smell the leather of his gloves and boots, the detergent he uses in his clothes and underlying it all is the smell of him. She tries to ignore the shiver that runs up her spine as she feels the heat radiating off of him. She fights the urge to just lean her head against him and let him take care of her for the rest of her life. Oblivious to what's going through her head, he instructs her in what information he wants her to put into the files and she's fairly sure that her head is going to explode from all of the information after a half hour's instruction.

"Do you have any questions?" he finally asks as he straightens up.

"Yeah," she answers dizzily, the information he's just given her all swimming around in her head. "Could you repeat everythin' after you said 'here, have a seat'?"

He chuckles and pulls up another window on the computer.

"These are the directions, step by step," he states. "I created them just in case."

"In case of what?" she asks, perplexed.

"In case…I forgot," he replies, his body conveying embarrassment.

"In case you forgot?" she laughs. "V, in the time I've been here you've quoted more Shakespeare at me than should legally be allowed. If you can remember all of those lines that someone else wrote, how can you possibly forget a program _you_ created?"

"But I have forgotten certain things, important things, and it would be foolhardy of me to think that I will never forget again," he softly answers.

He then turns and goes over to the artwork and picks a painting out. He returns with the priceless treasure and props it up on an easel that's sitting next to the desk. He shows her where to find the artist's name and then how to search the InterLink for the artwork in question. He lets her start entering the data he desires onto the computer and while she's doing that he disappears back into the gallery.

Just as she's finishing getting the basic information down for the piece he returns with several large tomes in his arms. Her eyes feel like they're about to fall out of her head since she has them open so wide. It shouldn't be humanly possible to carry that many books at once, but here he is doing just such a feat with what appears to be very little effort.

"For what you cannot find on the InterLink, you will more than likely find in these books," he informs her as he places them on the desk. "I have more and will bring them in shortly. Do you think you understand it now?"

"I think so, but you said you've already cataloged some of this stuff," she answers. "Which ones do I need to do and which ones should I skip?"

"Everything that's already out in the Gallery has been cataloged," he replies. "The items in here are what need to be done now. If you don't wish to do this, you don't have to."

"No, that's alright," she responds. "I'll feel better knowin' that I'm doing somethin' useful. I'd rather clean out closets than just be sittin' around and doin' nothing'."

"Very well then," he says with a slight nod of his head. "I shall leave you to your task."

She watches him walk away out of the corner of her eye, admiring the view. When she realizes what she's doing, her face heats up and she attempts to suppress the tremor that runs up her spine. With a small shake of her head, she turns back to the computer and starts the rather daunting task of cataloging all of the artwork in the storeroom. 

Scene change

A couple hours later, she's gotten a hang of her new job, but it's still a bit tedious and very butt numbing so she heads for the kitchen to make herself some tea. As she nears the main part of the Gallery, she can hear the clanging of metal on metal. Her heart nearly stops dead in her chest and she just stands there, paralyzed with fear.

A short time later, there's one last loud bang followed by clattering of something metallic rolling across the floor and then there's silence. She barely dares to breathe, her heart beating so loudly she can hardly hear anything at all. When no other loud noises come from the Gallery, she finally convinces her feet to move a little closer to the end of the hall, staying close to the wall as she goes.

When she finally gets there, she peeks around the corner and she can see V standing across the way. He has his back to her and a sword in his hand with the tip resting on the floor, almost as if it is a cane. He seems to be watching a movie and he's reciting the lines along with the actors, completely oblivious to the fact that she can see him. She quickly looks around the rest of the area, trying to figure out where the clanging noises were coming from and she finally notices the suit of armor has been moved out to the middle of the floor and its helmet is missing. It takes her a few moments to put two and two together but now she knows why the suit of armor looked like someone had been whacking on it.

After admiring the fine figure he cuts for a few too many seconds, she quietly sneaks into the kitchen and gets herself a glass of water before returning to the storage room and her work. As she gets the hang of researching the artwork that he's collected she's fascinated by what he has and how unorganized the whole place is. There is a Renoir with a Monet behind it and behind that one is a Picasso. She finds works from the Renaissance era, cubism, and modern art and even more styles she's never even heard of before mixed together in a hodgepodge way.

The place has not in the least bit organized other than the artwork is neatly stored. After she gets the first few pieces cataloged, she's at a loss as where to put them. She doesn't want to accidentally catalog them a second time, so she needs a place to put them until she can start putting the works in a more orderly manner. With a Rembrandt carefully held in her hands she wanders around looking for an out of the way place to store it and the other pieces.

She finally comes upon the corner she had hidden in what seems like a lifetime ago. She carefully sets the painting down and starts to pull up the tarp that's still heaped in the corner. As she starts to drag the canvas out, she discovers that there's something still in there. After carefully moving the folds of material, she finds a box and when she opens it up a smile lights her face.

Beheaded suit of armor or not, she needs to show her find to him immediately, so she carefully lifts the box up and heads out. The box is heavier than it looks and her arms protest the strain, but she ignores them as she quickly returns to the gallery. V is just returning the suit of armor to its normal resting spot, helmet back in place as she enters. He acts as if he's just examining the piece, but she smiles to herself since she knows the truth.

"Look what I found," she announces as she makes her way towards him.

Curiosity overcomes his embarrassment and he quickly comes over and relieves her of her burden. He swiftly takes it over to the piano and sets it down before opening the box up. As soon as he sees the contents of the cardboard container he goes perfectly still for several seconds, barely daring to breathe, before he carefully reaches in and pulls out one of the small vinyl disks, sliding it out of its dust jacket as he does so. He diligently inspects the 45 speed record, noting the artist and song name as he checks for any noticeable scratches.

"I believe I stated that you would find me more of these for me," he reminds her as he waves a graceful hand over the box. "And you have. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replies as she can feel her cheeks warm up.

"Where did you find them?" he asks as he starts to carefully unload the box.

"Buried in the tarp I hid under," she answers.

"Of course," he chuckles while he begins sorting the small black disks. "I was so consumed with getting the jukebox working that I did not bother to put away the tarp. Might I inquire what you were doing back over in that area? It seems a bit far off from where you were working."

"I wanted a place to put the pieces I had already cataloged so I didn't accidentally do them again," she answers, actually feeling a thrill of pleasure for making him happy while he continues to inspect his new treasure. "That corner is the only one not cluttered with art work. The tarp is awfully big and heavy. Would you mind helping me with it?"

"Huh? What?" he asks, startled from his reverie. "Oh, yes, of course. Give me a moment to put these away and I will gladly help you."

"Ok, I'll be in the storage room when you're ready," she says as she turns to go.

She returns to that massive cavern and heads back towards that corner, intent on at least starting to get the artwork moved around. She starts by dragging the tarp completely out of the corner after making sure there are no more hidden treasures in its folds. After it's out of the way, she carefully puts the Rembrandt she brought over into the corner, picks up a watercolor by someone named Hopper and heads back to her work station. After carefully setting the painting down, she picks up an O'Keeffe and heads back to that far corner. Just as she picks up a Toulouse-Lautrec, V walks into the room and watches her with a curious tilt to his head as she makes the long journey across the room.

"May I ask what you are doing?" he asks as she walks past him.

"Well, there's not a heck of a lot of empty space in here," she starts to explain while she puts the priceless item down next to the Hopper. "I figured that I'd put a piece that I had finished in that corner and then I'd bring a piece back with me so it doesn't get to cluttered back there."

"Interesting plan," he admits. "Where is the tarp?"

"Back by the corner it was in," she replies, heading back towards the far side of the room as she wipes the sweat from her brow. "It's heavier than it looks and I don't think I can fold it up by myself."

"That is quite alright," he assures her as he walks behind her and after a few meters she stops and turns to look at him.

"This feels weird," she states.

"What does?" he asks.

"You're walking behind me," she responds quietly. "It's supposed to be the other way around."

"You're not a slave any more, Audrey," he reminds her and she looks troubled by his comment.

"Not here, I'm not," she softly says. "But should I ever leave, I will be."

"They would have to catch you first," he states firmly.

"Not exactly a difficult task," she sadly points out. "They won't stop lookin' for me. Sooner or later they'll find me and even if they don't kill me, they'll do things to me to make sure I never talk."

"They won't find you here," he tells her for what feels to be the thousandth time.

"How can you be so sure?" she asks, she hugs herself as her body starts to tremble and she blinks furiously to try and stop the tears from coming.

"I've been watching them," he informs her. "They have no idea where you are and they are completely baffled about where you could be. You are safe here. Now let's get this tarp put away so that you may continue with your work."

She nods silently and turns back around, leading him to the heavy cloth without another word. Quietly, they fold the tarp up and he takes it with him as he heads for the door. She picks up another piece of artwork, a black and white photograph of Half Dome in Yosemite, and starts to follow him. He pauses at the door and looks at her face that's filled with worry.

"It is late, perhaps you should retire for the night and continue this in the morning," he suggests.

She only nods her agreement as she gently puts the Ansel Adams picture down. She walks over to the computer and saves her work before shutting down the computer. When she turns back to the door, he is gone and she quietly leaves the room, turning off the light as she exits.

She heads for her room, not really noticing that she doesn't see him around. She goes through her evening routine of getting ready for bed on auto pilot and eventually crawls under the covers. She turns off the light next to the bed and stares into the darkness, hoping that the Sandman will soon come to call. Sleep avoids her for what feels to be an eternity before sheer exhaustion pulls her under into fitful slumber. Her dreams are not restful and she tosses and turns until a comforting hand and a soft voice assures her that she's safe. With a sigh of relief, she slips into a deeper stage of sleep.

He watches her for some minutes just to assure himself that she will not wake screaming again. With a nod of satisfaction, he returns to his room and gets ready for his own bed. He lies in the dark, planning and organizing the next day in his mind before he finally falls asleep with visions of records spinning through his head.

Scene change

V wakes to strange noises coming from the Gallery and instantly every nerve in his body is alert. He dresses quickly and quietly before he stealthily sneaks out of his room. The ruckus is coming from the kitchen and as he nears the room, the most delightful smells filter through the mask to his nose. He instantly relaxes knowing that no intruder is going to bake for him and his step quickly and loudly so as not to startle his guest.

"Good morning, V," Audrey greets in a very cheery voice.

He doesn't respond immediately as he takes in the sight of his kitchen. Almost every horizontal surface is covered with food. Cooling breads, pies and muffins cover the counters and tables and his stomach grumbles loudly. She chuckles as she clears a spot for him to sit at the table and then goes back to what she was doing at the stove.

"What…is all this?" he asks as he waves a helpless hand at all the food.

"A bad habit I'm afraid," she guiltily admits. "When I get upset I do one of two things: clean or cook. It's not like there's a lot for me to clean around here so that leaves me with cookin'."

"So it does," he chuckles as he rests his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. "What are you making now?"

"Blueberry pancakes," she answers as she starts to flip the ones in the pan over.

"Oh, um…," he stammers.

"I'll leave yours in the oven until you're ready to eat," she states, not bothering to look up from her task. "I'm almost done. Once I'm through in here I'll get back to work catalogin' the artwork."

"How long have you been awake?" he questions, getting a better look at the array of food spread out in the small kitchen.

"A few hours," she replies with a shrug. "I kept havin' nightmares so I decided it wasn't worth tryin' to go back to sleep any more. By the way, where did you get blueberries? Even the general's wife couldn't get any and she could get just about anythin'."

"A supply train to Sutler," he replies as he leans over and takes an appreciative sniff of the French apple pie cooling on the table.

"You're quite the rapscallion, you know that, V?" she chuckles while she pours more batter into the hot griddle.

"Thank you," he chortles as he straightens up. "I do try my best."

"Why don't you go get cleaned up while I finish up in here," she suggests as she flips the flap jacks over.

"Why do you think I need to get cleaned up?" he queries.

"That's the same outfit you were wearing yesterday," she states as she points the spatula at him. "I recognize the dust smudges from when you were setting up the computer."

"Ah, I do appear to be a bit less then presentable, don't I?" he replies as he looks down at himself. "Then I shall do as you suggest and go get cleaned up."

With a bow, he turns on his heel and marches back to his room to retrieve a fresh set of clothing. A few moments later and she can hear the bathroom door closing followed by the sound of the pipes rattling as he turns on the shower. She quietly hums to herself as she finishes preparing breakfast for the two of them.

When he returns to the kitchen a short time later freshly washed and dressed, everything is as she said it would be. His breakfast waits for him in the oven keeping warm and she is long gone. He retrieves his plate from the oven and places it at the one clear spot at the table where she has left a pot of tea for him as well. He carefully checks that she's where she said she would be before removing the mask and enjoying his food.

After finishing his repast, he cleans the dishes that she's left soaking in the sink and then heads over to the jukebox. After meticulously writing down all of the songs and the artists on little pieces of paper to display in the case, he opens the machine up and starts to carefully put the records in one at a time. When he's done getting the labels in the right places he closes up the jukebox and turns to find a plate with a sandwich and a cut up apple waiting for him on the piano.

He quickly looks around and sees her retreating back as she heads back down the hall towards the art storage room. Taking his plate in hand, he heads for the monitor room, deciding to kill two birds with one stone. Once he locks himself in the room, he pulls out the disc from the recorder and then puts in a player.

He removes his mask and starts to eat while he watches the recording he made of Percy and his men. He's glad he's set it up that their meetings are being recorded since some of the things they talk about would more than likely land them all with very long prison terms. That's of course if they live that long.

He sighs in resignation as they start planning a party for some prominent member of the Norsefire party to try and gain favor of that person. Unfortunately, it's not someone he's interested in or he'd be making some plans for a bit of mayhem. As he continues to watch, plans for a little party crashing start playing around in his head despite his best intentions and he chuckles to himself at the thought of the anarchy he could cause if he wanted. Maybe a bit of madness is just what Percy and his cronies need.

Scene change

**Author's notes:** I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Between going on vacation, school starting last week and having a bit of writer's block, I'm afraid that I've been a bit behind in my writing. As if my life isn't hectic enough, my crazy muse is forming another story in another universe in the back of my head and it's driving me to distraction. I hope people enjoyed this chapter and leave a review. Now, before you get out the wet noodles and the buckets of ice water because Audrey is starting to get interested in V, let me assure you my muse and I have plans for her. Mwahahahahaha.


	14. Adagio

"Please don't do that," V requests as Audrey opens the refrigerator door.

"Do what?" she asks, gazing at him with a perplexed look on her face.

"Put the eggs away," he answers, stepping into the kitchen. "Please leave them out."

"But they'll go bad if you leave them out," she points out. "I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I know that."

"I know," he replies with a slight nod. "I want them to go bad."

"Plannin' on eggin' someone's house?" she bemusedly inquires as she shuts the fridge door.

"No, I wish to cultivate the salmonella that is naturally inherent in eggs," he states as he steps into the kitchen, gently takes the egg carton from her.

"Sam an' Ella? Who are they?" she questions as he steps past her.

Startled, he turns towards her and can see her trying desperately not to laugh.

"You'd make a horrible card player," he chuckles, moving towards the sink. "Do you know that?"

"Oh, I know," she responds with a shrug, a grin stretching her lips. "I used to get my fanny whooped all the time when I was a kid. Even the twins were beatin' me at cards by the time they were seven. So, what are you plannin' on doin' with those eggs?"

"I actually plan on cooking with them," he states as he gently sets the eggs down on the counter.

"Remind me not to eat your cookin' for the next week or two," she says, looking at him a bit horrified.

"Do not worry, my dear," he assures her as he steps up to her again. "I will not be feeding these eggs to you. They are for a party that Shire Stables is having."

He easily catches her in one arm as her legs give out and then he carefully steers her into a chair. She clings desperately to the arm holding her and it takes him several moments to pry her loose. She looks up at him with terror filled eyes and her face is as white as sheet.

"Please, V, stay away from those men," she begs, her entire body trembling causing her voice to shake.

"Do not worry so, Audrey," he says calmly while he moves away. "I simply intend to replace their Quiche Lorraines with my own. It seems their guest of honor is quite fond of this particular dish."

"Why are you doing this?" she asks as she hugs herself, trying to give herself some comfort.

"To put a little anarchy in their lives," he answers nonchalantly as he takes the chair across the table from her. "Their guest of honor is a member of the Norsefire party. He's not much of a worry now, but he has ambitions so they wish to gain favor with him. In ruining their little soirée by giving the guest of honor food poisoning, they won't be as immune from the police as they'd like to be. Shire Stables days are numbered, Audrey. If the police don't get them, I will."

He ends his little speech with a growl in his voice and she's reminded how dangerous this man truly is, but oddly enough, she doesn't feel threatened by him. Dangerous or not, her life is in his hands and he's the only man to show her any kindness in nearly a decade. Then a sudden thought strikes her and she's even more frightened than before.

"V, please don't mess with these men," she begs. "If they kill you, what will become of me? I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I can assure you that I will not be in contact with these men," he assures her. "Yet."

"Yet?" she squeaks.

"I will be simply replacing the food and so I will only have to get past the caterers," he calmly states.

"So you won't go near them?" she questions.

"Not this time," he answers. "I was wondering, would you care to help me make the quiches?"

"You want me to help you poison them?" she inquires, still trembling, but not nearly as badly as before.

"Yes," he answers peacefully.

"I don't know," she replies worriedly.

"I would imagine the chance to get back at these men with no worries of retribution would rather pique your interest," he says leaning forward onto the table. "Imagine getting a small form of vengeance on the men that forced you to be someone you're not. And if not for yourself, then for Georgia and what was done to her."

"And you're sure there's no way they'll be able to figure out I helped you?" she softly asks after she thinks about it for a few minutes.

"How would they know?" he counters. "They will blame the caterers. After all, they think you're hiding under some rock that they haven't been able to find."

"I am hidin' under a rock, V," she grimly points out.

"A rock they will never find," he replies, his voice taking on a self assured tone.

"I'd feel bad about the cooks," she states a while later. "They'll get blamed for the bad food."

"I can assure you that the men and women of this catering company are not ones to lament," he responds. "They have catered many a Norsefire party using food that should have gone to the people, not the bellies of those who don't need it. These people deserve neither your pity nor your protection, Audrey."

"I just don't know…," she hesitantly replies, the shaking is gone, though she's still a bit jumpy.

"_The lady doth protest too much, methinks," _he gently teases.

"Alright, alright, I'll help you make the quiches," she finally relents. "Do you know how to make Quiche Lorraine?"

"I was able to obtain the recipe the caterers will use," he answers. "Look at this as therapy. You'll be getting a bit of revenge on men who don't deserve to share the same air as a cockroach and they'll be none the wiser for it."

"I hope you're right," she sighs as she stands. "When do you want to get started on the quiches?"

"Tomorrow morning will be fine since the party is tomorrow night," he replies as he also gets to his feet. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yeah, it might help calm my nerves," she agrees, looking as if she's a bit lost. "How many quiches are you plannin' on makin'?"

"They have half a dozen ordered for the party, so that is how many we shall make," he responds as he picks the kettle up and starts to fill it at the sink. "Why don't you go find something relaxing to do?"

"Like what?" she asks, still a bit fidgety.

"You could read or watch the telly or even play your guitar," he proposes while setting the kettle on the stove and lighting the fire underneath.

"Do you want me to play another song for you?" she questions.

"Do you want to play a song for me?" he asks back.

"I do if you want me too," she answers.

"Audrey, I only want you to play for me if it will help you relax," he replies. "You seemed rather tense the last time, so perhaps another time when you aren't so upset would be good."

"Maybe I'll just go back to workin' on the catalogin'," she says as she heads out of the small room. "Workin' helps me keep my mind off of things."

"How is that coming along?" he questions as he starts taking out the various paraphernalia for the tea.

"It's goin' alright," she answers. "I'm gettin' the hang of the InterLink. It's been years since I've used a computer, so I'm a bit rusty, but it's comin' back to me. The books you brought me have really been very helpful."

"Is there anything you need to assist your research?" he inquires while he puts one of the few remaining muffins she baked on a plate.

"A bookcase might be nice," she replies. "The books are all over the place and I keep trippin' over 'em."

"I believe that can be arranged," he states with a nod of his head. "I will see to it shortly."

"Thanks, V," she says.

"You are most welcome, Audrey," he responds as she gives him a small smile before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

When he enters the kitchen the next morning he finds her already making the crusts for the quiches. He quietly watches her as she rolls out the dough for the crust and sees that despite her sure moves, her hands are shaking. Though her limbs tremble so, she rolls out the crust neatly and quickly.

"Ya gonna stand there all mornin' or ya gonna get in here an' help?" she asks without looking up.

"Of course," he replies with a nod as he steps into the small room. "I see you have been hard at work already. Bad dreams again?"

"What else?" she responds testily as she carefully lays the crust in the pan.

"If you don't want to do this, Audrey, you don't have to," he says as he takes the bacon out of the refrigerator.

"Are ya sure they make their Quiche Lorraine with bacon?" she asks as she crimps the edges of the crust with a fork. "I've seen the recipe with ham as well."

"Yes, I'm sure," he assures her as he starts to heat up a pan to cook the bacon. "I got the recipe from their computer files."

"You hacked into their computer?" she questions as she pokes holes in the crust before placing it in the oven.

"I have a wide variety of talents, I can assure you," he answers as he retrieves some onions out of a basket on the counter. "Are you alright?"

"No, but this needs ta be done an' those bastards need ta pay for what they've done," she answers while pulling a completed pie shell out of the oven.

"Am I mistaken or is your accent getting heavier?" he inquires as he carefully starts laying the bacon in the hot pan.

"They tried beatin' it out of me, but it's not like it's a bad habit I can just break," she replies as she pulls another ball of dough out of the refrigerator. "I've been tryin' to sound as cultured as you, but I guess I'm too nervous right now not to sound like some country bumpkin."

"I actually find your accent quite charming," he tells her as he starts to cut up the first onion.

"Thank you," she says, blushing slightly.

They work in silence as she makes the crusts while he prepares and then mixes the filling ingredients. Some time later, there are six Quiche Lorraines sitting on the table cooling and they admire their handiwork with both pride and disgust.

"They smell good enough to eat," she tells him. "But I wouldn't even feed these to a starvin' dog."

"Speaking of food, have you eaten since you arose this morning?" he asks.

"No, I've been too nervous," she answers and her stomach growls loudly, confirming her statement and causing him to chuckle. "I guess I'm not so nervous now."

"So it would seem," he replies, the smile evident in his voice. "How would you like me to make you some breakfast while you get cleaned up?"

"As long as it doesn't have eggs in it, I'll eat just about anythin'," she agrees as she starts to leave.

"We used all of the bad eggs so there is no reason to avoid them," he tells her.

"You can tell that to my brain all you want, but my gut has a different opinion," she replies. "It's nearly lunch time; a sandwich will be fine, thank you."

"Very well, a sandwich it shall be," he responds with a small bow.

"Thank you, V, I'll be out in a tic," she calls over her shoulder as she heads for her room.

* * *

A while later, he is dressed to go out and he finds her back in the art storage room working on the cataloging. Her nose buried in a book, she doesn't see him when he first comes in and he watches her for a few moments, noticing how much her hair has grown out since she first arrived nearly a month ago. It's rather disconcerting seeing more than an inch of red hair hiding underneath all of that brown.

"Is there a reason you've takin' to starin' at me, V?" she asks, not bothering to look up from her book.

"My apologies, I didn't wish to disturb your research," he replies as he puts down the boxes he was carrying and steps closer to her. "I was just noticing your hair."

"Don't remind me," she grumbles. "I never thought I'd be glad to have red hair, but after spendin' the past nine havin' to keep dyin' it brown, I'll be thrilled to finally have it back to the natural color. What's with the boxes?"

"Those are the quiches," he answers as he looks back at the white cardboard bakery boxes. "I'm off to make the exchange. Do you wish for me to bring the good quiches back here?"

"I don't think I'll be able to look at a quiche for some time," she replies. "I don't suppose you could give them to people who need them more than us."

"I could at that," he responds with a nod and then an odd stray thought enters him mind. "The night we met, Jones beat you for making the wrong dinner. I believe you made chicken that night. What was he expecting?"

"Pot roast," she answers as a shiver runs down her spine.

"Why the menu change?" he inquires. "Did they not have the meat you required at the store? I know with his position, you could buy almost anything you wished, but if the store did not have it then he had no right to be angry."

"Oh, the store had the meat alright," she sighs as she leans back in her chair and briefly revels in the feeling of a welt free back. "There was a young woman there with her three kids. The oldest couldn't have been more than five. She didn't even have enough food coupons to buy milk, much less a decent meal for them, so I gave her some of mine. By the time I was done, I didn't have enough for the roast, so I got a chicken instead. Knowin' that those kids had food in their bellies was worth any beatin' Michael could have given me."

"You are truly a Good Samaritan," he tells her with a bow.

"And no good deed goes unpunished," she says. "You better get goin' if you're goin' to make the switch in time."

"So I should," he agrees as he turns back towards the boxes with a swish of his cloak. "I shall not be long."

With that, he's gone and she goes back to her book as she tells her nerves to calm down. Soon, she's lost in the world of de Vinci and V's absence doesn't seem to be as bad as it used to be.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Mea culpa! Mea culpa! I'm so sorry about the delay. I can now say my muse has gone off the deep end, around the bend and she's nuttier than a fruitcake. She's been bugging me to write an X-Men story and in order to get some sleep at night I'm now back to working on four stories again. bangs head on desk a few times At any rate, I'll try to keep a schedule or something to keep the updates coming. As always, please review.

_The lady doth protest too much, methinks _- Hamlet


	15. Classical

**Author's Notes:** I'M SORRY! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry. (grovelgrovelgrovelgrovelgrovel) My muse needs to be locked up, that's all there is too it. At least I managed to update before I went on vacation. (Thanksgiving with the in-laws. Pity me.) Enjoy and please review. One quick thing, remember the Good Boy's from the first chapter? (Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm pushing my luck) Well, you remember how I said they're sort of like a Game Boy but it's also like a Blackberry with the ability to text message and to get and send email.

* * *

"Are ya alright?" she asks in concern.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine, thank you," he answers, managing to keep the pain out of his voice.

"I'm really sorry about that," she says remorsefully.

"It's quite alright," he responds.

"I did warn ya though," she quietly points out.

"Yes, you most certainly did," he replies.

"Are ya sure ya're alright?" she repeats.

"I assure you, Audrey, that I am quite fine," he reassures her from his spot on the floor.

"Would ya like some ice?" she inquires.

"No, that won't be necessary, thank you," he responds.

"Maybe I should go start dinner," she suggests.

"Yes, that does sound like a good idea," he readily agrees and watches as she hesitantly leaves him.

Once he's sure she's gone, he lets out a sigh and reaches down to rub his throbbing bum. It really is his own fault; she had warned him. But whether it was his own ego or his firm belief that her previous teachers just didn't know how to do the job properly, it was still his own folly to try and teach her how to dance.

How hard could it be to learn to do the box step? All he had to do was lead and all she had to do was follow. Unfortunately for him, she really is about as coordinated as an elephant on roller-skates as she so succinctly put it before he insisted on this particular endeavor.

Well, if it distracted her from her current bout of depression, than the kicked shins, the stomped on toes and the sore rump have been well worth it. Of course, if she hadn't happened into the TV room at the precise moment the news was doing a report on one of the victims of their little quiche prank from the previous week, everything would have been fine. Unfortunately, she had had happened by just as the news poppet announced that one of the party goers had died from complications from the food poisoning and she had become instantly inconsolable.

At first he hadn't noticed. After all, he's spent nearly two decades living by himself, he has no previous experience dealing with another person's mood swings, especially a woman's. Who could blame him for taking delight in the sod's demise while ignoring her first sniffle? Alright, maybe giggling with glee wasn't the right thing to do at that moment, but how was he to know?

By the time he had turned around, her cheeks were wet with countless tears and she was nearly hysterical with grief. When he had tried to get a coherent word out of her, she blabbered something about it being her fault. While V tried to process that information, she had run off and he found her a short time later locked in her room sobbing uncontrollably.

That had been last night and by this morning she hadn't been much better. While the crying had stopped, she had fallen back into not talking unless truly pressed for an answer. She had barely eaten the French pancake he had so carefully prepared and then claimed she wasn't hungry as she wandered off.

He found her a few hours later in the art storage room just staring at the blank computer screen, the same painting sitting in the easel next to the desk that had been there the night before. Her eyes were red and puffy from more crying and her depression was starting to get to him. But what to do about it? He decided then she needed to be distracted and picked the first thing that came to mind: dancing.

The box step really is such a simple dance move: step, together; step, together; step, together; step, together; all done in the shape of one of the most basic geometric patterns known to man: the square. For more than an hour he had patiently gone over the moves with her, first having her copy his moves by standing behind him and then mirroring his moves as he had placed their hands in the proper positions. He foolishly distracted himself for but a moment by thinking about what song currently residing in the jukebox would do well with this dance and that's when she managed to get their legs entangled and they had gone down. Instinctively, he had twisted their bodies so that she would land on top and he would take the brunt of the fall.

She had immediately gotten off of him and that's when the apologizing had begun. Another fifteen minutes it took just to get her to go away so he can now assess the damage done. After gingerly standing up, he's able to ascertain that other than his bruised toes, shins and backside that the only other damage done is to his ego.

He takes a moment to think of what to do next and it is then that he realizes that he's not hearing any sounds coming from the kitchen. When he gets to that particular area of the Gallery, he finds her standing just outside the kitchen, shaking like a leaf in the wind and crying again. Great, just what he needs.

"May I inquire as to what the trouble is?" he asks, though he can take a guess.

"I killed a man with my cookin'," she whimpers as more tears leave wet trails down her face.

"Audrey, may I point out that in fact all you did was make the crust for the quiches," he reminds her. "I am the one who created the poisonous concoction that made them sick and in the case of that one man, caused his death."

"But I helped," she wailed, turning her extremely bloodshot eyes towards him. "I helped ya kill him. Ya told me they would just get sick."

"They were only supposed to get sick," he replies. "The death of this one man while unexpected, is not unwelcome."

"How can ya say that?" she demands. "He was another human bein'."

"So was Major Jones until I ended his life," he points out. "Yet I did not see you grieving his passing. If my guess is correct, the man in question worked for Shire Stables, not someone to be spilling tears over."

"Are ya sure he worked for Shire Stables?" she sniffles quietly.

"I can find out if you like," he offers.

"Please," she quietly requests.

"Very well," he agrees with a nod. "I will go and do that now, _if_ you make dinner."

"Ok," she says in a small voice and hesitantly steps into the kitchen.

"Good, I will be back as soon as I can," he tells her, before disappearing down one of the many halls of the Gallery.

"Ok, girl, ya can do this," she whispers to herself. "He's not afraid of ya bein' in here, and neither should ya."

With a shaking hand, she opens the refrigerator door and starts to pull out the ingredients for dinner.

* * *

"Robert 'Bobby' Catesby," V announces as he steps into the kitchen where he finds her putting the finishing touches on dinner.

"Who's Bobby Catesby?" she asks as she puts down a bowl of linguine in a pesto sauce.

"The man who died due to our little escapade," he explains. "Not only did he used to work for Shire Stables, he was the man assigned to finding you."

"He was lookin' for me?" she whispers, her face white as a sheet.

"Yes, so you see, there is no need to lament this man's passing," he points out.

"I guess not," she replies shakily and barely manages to get into a chair before collapsing on the floor.

"Now what is the matter?" he asks, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"I always knew that they'd try to find me, but…," she answers.

"But…?" he prompts after several moments of silence.

"I guess some small part of me had hoped they had given up," she replies quietly. "It's like I'm in another world down here. It's so surreal. I've lost all track of time. How long have I been down here?"

"Almost a month," he answers.

"I told ya they wouldn't stop lookin' for me," she whispers as her shoulders slouch in defeat. "They never will. Sooner or later they will find me."

"They will never find you here," he states in a self assured tone.

"But how long will I be here?" she questions. "The rest of my life? Until you tire of me and hand me over to them? How long, V?"

"I will never hand you over to them," he nearly growls.

"But if you send me away, you might as well hand me to them on a silver platter," she almost sobs. "Where would I go? What would I do? A single word out of my mouth and everyone will know I don't belong here. So what do I chose, V? I can be tortured, interrogated and then shot by Creedy or I can be put in a cage and treated like an animal until my usefulness runs out. Or do I stay here never to feel the sun on my skin again, catalogin' your finds and makin' dinners you seldom share with me? One way or another, I'm a prisoner, be it yours or theirs. Even though the cage is gilded, it's still a cage, V."

"What right would they have to make you a slave again?" he asks after several moments of silence.

"They have a copy of my ownership papers," she answers quietly. "They do that with all of their slaves in case something happens to the owner. They just slip in and steal away the slave while the authorities are lookin' the other way. That's how come they can undersell their competitors. They have the right to reclaim the property."

"Jones paid nearly a quarter of a million pounds for you," he tells her.

"That's because I was bought from over seas," she replies. "Plus there was the price of the surgeries. Accordin' to the man in charge of me in France, they nearly took a loss with me. Their hope was that Jones would let them use me as a breeder to make up some of the price I cost them. They were in the middle of negotiations when you killed him."

"Jones was actually considering allowing them to use you like an animal?" he hisses.

"Actually, this was the only time that Michael was willin' to protect me," she replies sourly. "An' it wasn't because he actually didn't want me to suffer the humiliation of bein' bred, it was because he didn't want to lose the benefit of havin' a cook, maid an' babysitter for six months."

"How would he have explained your disappearance?" he asks.

"Easy enough," she responds with a shrug. "Just tell people I had a mental breakdown and went to a nice private hospital out in the country."

"Convenient," he growls.

"Very," she sighs. "Dinner's gettin' cold."

"I shall eat in my office," he tells her as he picks up a plate and starts to serve himself. "If you don't mind."

"Course not," she softy assures him. "Gettin' kind of used to eatin' by myself."

Once he's gone, she packs up dinner and puts it away, no longer interested in eating. She washes, dries and puts away the dishes before returning to her room. She gets ready for bed and then crawls between the sheets where she stares into the darkness for what seems like days.

She thinks about the two bright spots that have helped her keep her sanity all this time and the thought that she'll never see them again tears her up inside. Yes, there is some solace in playing the guitar and singing, but you can't hold a song or kiss it. It can't tell you about its day or ask for help with its homework or ask you to kiss and make a boo-boo better. She buries her face in her pillow and cries knowing that while the twins aren't hers by birth, they will always be hers by heart.

* * *

She finds him a few days later in the kitchen packing food into a traveling bag. He's dressed to go out with the knives strapped to his middle and his cloak draped over the back of the while his hat sits in the middle of the table.

"V, what are ya doin'?" she asks.

"I'm afraid I must be away for a few days," he tells her, not pausing in his packing.

"Where are you goin'?" she questions.

"I can't tell you that," he replies while he puts a few last items in his pack.

"What should I do while you're gone?" she inquires, the old fears starting to crawl back out of their hole.

"Continue working on cataloging the artwork," he answers as he closes up the bag. "Eat when you're hungry, wash when you're dirty and sleep when you're tired."

"What if someone…?" she starts.

"No one will find you here, Audrey," he interrupts as he picks his cloak up and swirls it around his shoulders. "Even if they set a new person to start looking for you, they have no idea where to begin. Rest assured that you are perfectly safe here."

With that, he bows to her, dons his hat, shoulders the sack of food and heads towards the main door. She watches him pick up a large duffle bag waiting by the door and then with a swish of his cloak he's gone. The lock clicks into place, echoing through the silent chambers with a finality that makes her shudder.

She stands motionless for several minutes trying to get a handle on her nerves and listens to the near deafening silence. Even the grandfather clock seems to be still and after a few moments she realizes that she's holding her breath. She lets the air out of her lungs shakily and then goes to make her breakfast.

She doesn't get more than a couple of bites into her meal before she gets up and heads for the jukebox, unable to stand the silence anymore. While staring at the buttons, she discovers that it can be programmed to randomly play the songs and she gladly pushes that button. Once the first strands of music waft through the quiet rooms, she doesn't feel so alone or frightened and goes back to her repast.

Once the dishes are cleaned and put away, she goes over to the jukebox and finds the volume control, turning it up so she can hear the music in the storage room even if she won't be able to make out the words. As soon as that's done, she heads down the hall and gets back to work, finally finishing the work on the painting that's been patiently waiting. She pulls out a Classical painting of a sitting woman with a sad face, robes draped around her, but with her front exposed from the waist up, a crown upon her head and a small snake in her hand.

She can't find the artist's name and starts searching on the InterLink for banned paintings matching the description she types into the search engine. At first it brings up hundreds of paintings of half nude women on the initial search, but as she narrows it down, more and more of the extras fall away. Finally she's left with the thumbnail images of a half dozen painting and she easily finds what she's looking for: Gavin Hamilton's Cleopatra.

_"Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me,"_ she quietly quotes to herself. "Good heaven's, who'd o' thought that I would remember that blasted play from high school. Oh bloody hell, now I'm starting quote Shakespeare just like V. Heaven help me."

Slightly shaking her head, she starts to switch windows when she notices an ad in a banner across the top of the page, but she quickly dismisses it. She finishes cataloging the painting and then moves on to the next one but something in the back of her mind won't let her forget that ad. She clicks back to the window with the ad and looks at it for a bit more, but fear grips her while her heart fights with her brain.

He said that she couldn't see them again, that it was too dangerous. But did that mean she had to lose all contact with them? Didn't they have a right to know that she's alright? That they shouldn't worry about her? That she loves them?

She doesn't know how long she sits there staring at that screen; time doesn't seem to have any meaning anymore. V would probably forbid it, but he's not here and she has no way to contact him. Besides, how would he know if she did it? It's not like she's going to write it across the sky, it'll be such a short little thing. How can he possibly begrudge her that? Just the shortest of notes. Something to comfort them in their time of need.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she manages to steady most of her nerves. What he doesn't know can't hurt him. So, with a shaking hand, she moves the mouse and the pointer on screen moves in conjunction with it onto the ad banner. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she clicks on the ad for free email.

* * *

_"Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me." _– Antony and Cleopatra 


	16. Accelerando

**Author's Notes: **A big thank you to my reviewers for all of your kind words. Here's the next chapter and now that my muse has been sedated, these hopefully will start coming a bit faster. As always, enjoy and review.

* * *

Philip and Charles trudge back to their aunt and uncle's flat after yet another torturous day at their new school. Making friends has been impossible. Whether it's from the fact that the kids in this school have almost all known each other since they first started or because of the media hype that's followed the twins or the boys holding out with hope that their mother will be found and they can go back to their old school, it doesn't really matter. Other than each other, there is no one at their school that would qualify as a friend even though they've been going there for nearly a month and the loneliness is getting to them. 

Despite the fact that they have each other, sometimes it's nice to have someone new to talk to, but that's not an option right now. All the other kids have been picked up by their mum's in their bright shiny cars while the twin's aunt and uncle have to work to try and make ends meet. A little over a month ago, the twins were just like those kids, but now they're the outsiders looking in.

When they get back to the apartment building, a place they still don't consider home, Philip charges into the small flat, throws his book bag towards the guest bedroom with a bit more force then necessary and then plops down on the couch. He turns on the telly in hopes of some mindless entertainment that he can lose himself in before Aunt Ruth comes home and makes them do their homework.

Charles, the calmer of the two, follows his brother into the building at a more sedate pace, picks up Philip's bag and takes into the bedroom with him. He carefully puts the bags down before pulling his Good Boy out of a bureau drawer and turning it on. He lies down on the bed he shares with his brother and starts to go through his emails from his friends.

The last email in the queue is from someone he doesn't recognize and he tentatively opens it, expecting it to be spam and suddenly he's glad that he's lying down. He rereads the message several times before launching himself off of the bed and grabbing his brother's Good Boy out of the bureau. He races into the family room, turns off the telly and tosses Philip the small device.

"Oy, I was watchin' that!" Philip yells as he clumsily catches the thing thrown at him.

"Check your email," Charles instructs.

"Why?" Philip snarls, not happy about having his show interrupted.

"Just bloody well do it," Charles insists.

Philip mutters a few choice words under his breath as he turns the device on and brings up the email program. He scrolls through until he sees a message by someone he doesn't know.

"It's just spam," Philip grumbles getting ready to delete it.

"Read it," Charles orders.

"Why?" Philip demands.

"Just do it!" Charles nearly yells.

"Fine," Philip mutters angrily and opens the message.

_My dearest boys,_

_I don't know where to begin so let me just start with saying how much I love the two of you and it just kills me that I can't be with you right now. I know you both must have a million questions you want to ask me, but I really don't have any answers. Just know that I'm safe and that I love you both with all of my heart. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to email you or how often, but when I can, I will. So if I stop sending you messages, please don't give up hope, I'm still out there somewhere and I will always love you._

_Love,_

_Mum_

Charles watches him carefully as his brother reads the message and Philip's eyes get really large.

"Bloody hell," Philip gasps.

"Ya think it's really her?" Charles asks nervously.

"I sure as hell hope so," Philip mutters, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Charles sits next to his brother and they stare at their Good Boys, not sure what exactly to make of all of it. They're still there when their aunt comes through the front door some time later. She's tired and cranky and she's sure not in the mood to deal with a couple of emotional kids.

"Put the games away boys," she instructs, barely looking over at them. "It's time to do your homework."

"Aunt Ruth!" they both yell, startling the woman.

"Look what came in the email!"

"It's Mum! She's alive!"

"Ya gotta call that detective and let him know!"

"Call the Finger, that detective couldn't find his arse with both hands."

"Boys! BOYS!" she yells to get them to both stop talking at the same time. "One at a time, please. What's this about your mum?

"She sent us an email," Charles proudly states, shoving his Good Boy into her hands.

"Oh my word," she whispers after reading the message. "Go get your books and do your homework, boys. I need to ring up Detective Finch."

* * *

Over an hour later, the boys are still sitting at the kitchen table trying to get their homework done, but unable to concentrate. They're a bit sore about having their Good Boys confiscated, but since they couldn't seem to stop staring at the email, Ruth was left with no choice. As they're grumpily getting through their math homework, there's a knock at the door and Ruth quickly goes to answer it. 

The boys can hear her talking to a man and a moment later Ruth returns with Finch and Dominic in tow. She shows them the Good Boys and Finch mutters something under his breath as Dominic lets out a sigh of relief. The boys watch the men suspiciously as the younger one starts doing something with the Good Boy he's holding.

"Alright, Chief, I've forwarded the message to our email accounts," Dominic states as he hands the device back to Ruth.

"Are you boys sure this is your mum that sent this to you?" Finch asks the boys.

"Who else would send it?" Charles asks. "The only people who've ever had our email addresses are our parents, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Tom and some friends."

"It could be someone's idea of a joke," Finch tells him. "A sick one, mind you, but a joke none the less. I want you boys to reply to whoever sent this and send us a copy, I'm sure there's a way to do that without letting whoever sent these know."

Finch looks at Dominic and Dom nods.

"What do you want us to say to her?" Philip asks suspiciously.

"Ask her what happened, see if you can find out where she is," Finch answers, turning to look at the other boy and handing the device over to him. "Any clues as to why your father was murdered and why she was kidnapped would be very helpful."

"So you want us to forward anything she sends us on to you?" Charles clarifies. "Should we let her know that we're doin' that?"

"Yes, please send us any messages she sends you, but don't let her know just yet," Finch replies. "We want to make sure it's really her first."

"You'll find the addresses in that Good Boy," Dominic states, pointing at the small device that Ruth is holding.

"Any help you boys can give us would be greatly appreciated," Finch says, looking both boys in the eyes. "Getting your mum back is our highest priority right now, so please remember to forward those emails."

"Ok, Inspector, we'll do that," Charles assures the man.

"Thank you," Finch responds before turning back to Ruth. "Thank you for calling us. We'll keep in touch."

"Thank you, Inspector," she replies as she shows them out.

When she comes back she finds the boys trying to compose a message to send to their mother. Deciding that it'll be easier to let them do that than trying to force them to do their homework right now, she puts the other Good Boy on the table and goes to make dinner. For better or worse, the woman pretending to be her sister may still be alive.

* * *

"What do you think this means, Chief?" Dominic asks after they have been driving for several minutes. 

"It means either some sick bastard is playing one very cruel joke on those boys," Finch begins with a sigh. "Or the man who killed Jones isn't a very good kidnapper and she's gotten hold of a computer."

"What do we do with her if we do find her alive?" Dominic questions.

"That's the real question, isn't it?" Finch replies with a sigh. "Do we go on pretending she's the boy's mum or do we ship her back to wherever she came from?"

"Why not let her continue being their mum?" Dominic inquires.

"Because we can't be sure she's English," Finch answers.

Dominic isn't sure how to respond to that so they drive on in silence once more.

* * *

V returns to the Shadow Gallery after four days covered in dust and grime and feeling rather proud of himself. The last of the track has been laid and he's moved the train onto them, not an easy feat with an unstable power supply to make the train move. He knows he's going to have to work on getting a more reliable source of electricity down there and he starts making a mental list of items that he'll have to 'acquire' to run power from the Gallery down to the station he has the train hidden in. 

He closes and locks the door behind him, resetting the alarms and traps outside the door after he's done securing the portal. He picks up the empty knapsack and the bag with his equipment and heads for the main area of his home. He steps through the inner door and is greeted by the smells of a roasting chicken and woman humming.

"Oh, V, you're home," Audrey smiles at him from the entrance of the kitchen. "You're just in time. Dinner is almost ready. Good heavens, what happened to you? You look like you've been rollin' around in the dirt."

"I have been setting the stage," he proudly tells her.

"A stage for what?" she asks, a bit perplexed.

_"An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told,"_ he quotes at her.

"Come again?"

_"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king," _he purrs as he drops his burden and boldly steps into the middle of the Gallery.

"Are ya feelin' alright?"

_"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," _he continues while he struts about._ "They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."_

"Um, V…"

_"Out, out, brief candle!" _he laughs loudly as he flies around the room, his cape billowing around him._ "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."_

"Did you hit your head or somethin'?" she demands.

"I assure you, Audrey, that I am quite well," he tells her as he finally stills his motions.

"Then what was all that about?" she questions, waving a hand around to indicate his performance.

"A large part of my plans are now in place and I am simply overjoyed with their completion," he states and she looks at him funny.

"Whatever ya say," she replies, worry lines creasing her brow. "Like I said earlier, dinner is almost ready. Ya might want to get cleaned up a bit."

"Ah, yes," he says, briefly glancing down at himself and then going to collect his things. "I do look a bit of a fright. I shall be back shortly"

With a flip of his cape, he disappears down one of the many hallways and she stares after him a bit bemused.

"I'm livin' with a crazy person," she chuckles to herself as the timer goes off and she returns to the kitchen to get dinner on the table, not knowing that V heard her quite clearly.

* * *

V returns to the kitchen some time later properly cleaned and attired to find Audrey just starting to clean up. 

"Oh, there you are," she says when he walks in. "I hope ya don't mind but I made up a plate for you. It's in the oven keepin' warm."

"No, of course I don't mind," he replies while he retrieves his food. "Thank you for the kind gesture. Might I ask you something?"

"Sure, what is it?" she responds as she starts to fill the sink with hot soapy water.

"When I arrived home, you were humming Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture," he reminds her. "Was there a reason why you were doing this?"

"It used to be Poppa's favorite piece of music," she answers while she starts washing the dishes. "I don't know if you ever had this problem here in England, but in the States young men would customize their cars and put in these sound systems that would shake your fillin's out from two blocks away. They really seemed to like tormentin' people in minivans and such since they weren't considered 'cool' cars. At any rate, Poppa always wanted to put big ol' speakers in our minivan and then blast the 1812 Overture at them, using a recording using real cannon and musket fire, but Momma would never let him. I'm not sure why I was hummin' it earlier, but it always puts a smile on my face when I hear it."

"Fighting fire with fire," he muses as he picks up the cutlery off of the table. "I like it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work do take care of."

"Of course," she replies. "I'll be in the art storage room when I'm done in here. I'm startin' to really get a hang for all of these paintin's and things."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that," he says with a nod. "I shall be quite busy, so please do not disturb me unless it's truly important."

"Ok," she responds, not bothering to look up as he exits the room.

He retires to the monitor room, locking the door behind him and pops out the disc that was in the recorder. He puts the disc in the player and starts playing back the meetings that Percy held during his absence. The mask and gloves are set to the side as he settles down into his chair, ready for some information gathering or at the very least, a bit of amusement.

He listens as he eats the lovely meal Audrey prepared and he chuckles to himself as the first meeting consists of Percy griping about the food poisoning that he and his compatriots have suffered. The next meeting consists of Percy assigning a new lackey to the job of finding Audrey and while this bloke doesn't look like a fool, V is confident enough in their secrecy that he's not worried. The third meeting holds nothing interesting for V as he puts his now empty plate off to the side and returns his mask and gloves to their proper place. While he's pulling on his final glove, the final meeting starts on the monitor and within moments what transpires there makes V's blood run cold.

* * *

_"An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told"_ – King Richard III 

_"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king"_ – Hamlet

_"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts"_ – As you like it

_"Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."_ – Macbeth


	17. Allegretto

**Author's Notes:** Ok, I'm just going to have to have my muse sedated. Maybe then she'll be more cooperative with the creating new chapters for all of my stories. I hope. Sorry about the wait, gang. Please enjoy.

* * *

"What are ya doin' here, Kevin?" Percy asks, eyeing his subordinate suspiciously. "Didn't expect to see ya for at least another week."

"I've got news for you, Mr. Percy," Kevin replies cautiously.

"What kind of news?" Percy questions, leaning forwards in his seat, his face still not very welcoming.

"Well, it depends," Kevin answers hesitantly.

"Depends on what?" Percy demands.

"It depends on whether proof that the missing mare is alive is a good thing or not," Kevin responds.

"You've got proof that she's alive?" Percy inquires, a hint of danger in his voice.

"Yes, sir, I do," Kevin answers quickly.

"What have ya got and how did ya get it?" Percy requests suspiciously.

"I thought that since she was allowed to raise those twin colts that maybe she'd grown attached to them and if she got the chance, she'd contact them and then they would tell the Nose," Kevin hastily relays. "Just the other day, she did contact them and just as predicted, they told the coppers."

"How did she contact them?" Percy asks.

"She emailed them," Kevin replies nervously.

"Are ya sure it's her and not someone else pretendin' to be her?" Percy questions, eyes narrowed.

"Well, I'm as certain as my friend at the Nose is an' he says that Finch is pretty convinced," Kevin answers, sweat trickling down his face.

"Ya know someone in the Nose?" Percy inquires suspiciously.

"Yeah, an old school chum," Kevin responds, shifting nervously. "He hacked into Finch's computer sometime ago and he'll give the info to anyone asks, for a price o' course."

"Of course," Percy nearly purrs as he sits back in his seat. "It's always good to have chums in high places. So what does the email say?"

"Actually, there're several emails," Kevin explains as he relaxes visibly. "They pretty much are just her tellin' the brats that she loves them and all that rot. When they asked her where she was she said she didn't know. They asked what it looked like outside her window and she said there are no windows."

"No windows?" Percy snarls. "Where the bloody hell is she that there'd be no windows?"

"Maybe she's locked in one of the center rooms of a big house," one of Percy's lackeys suggests. "Like the one you've got back at the farm for special training."

"Nah," Kevin responds, shaking his head. "She told them that she pretty much has run of the place except for a few rooms, though she can't leave since the man keeps the door out locked at all times."

"What about the man who has her?" Percy asks suspiciously. "What does she say about him?"

"She only said that he hated Jones so much that he killed him and that he's been very good to her," Kevin answers.

"No surprise there," Percy scoffs. "Probably doesn't keep her in line like he should. The bloke got a name?"

"She never says," Kevin replies.

"What else does she say about him?" Percy inquires.

"Only that he's a lover of the arts and a good cook," Kevin responds

"Well, we'll deal with him when the time comes," Percy states as he becomes thoughtful. "Our main problem right now is finding the little bint. Any ideas boys?"

The room falls silent for several minutes as Percy and his men think. Below ground, V watches the day old recording, hardly breathing as a barely suppressed rage courses through his body. His fists are tight, tense balls and the leather of his gloves squeaks in protest.

"What type of house doesn't have windows?" Percy mutters to himself before looking back at Kevin. "What else did she say about the place she's staying?"

"Not much other than it's sort of like living in a museum and a library at the same time," Kevin answers. "She said that she feels like Alice in Wonderland."

"The brats understood that?" Percy scoffs.

"Amazingly enough, yeah, they did," Kevin replies.

"So the little bint has gone down the rabbit hole," Percy muses before falling silent again for several moments. "Dear god, that's what she's done."

"Done what, sir?" another lackey asks.

"She's gone to ground," Percy snarls. "The bitch is hiding somewhere underground. The old tube system. That's where they've got to be. Tommy, I want you to organize the men and start searching the old tubes from top to bottom. Bring in men from the farm if you have to. I want every square inch of that place gone over with a fine tooth comb."

In a flurry of movement, V slams the button to turn the player off, breaking it in the process and then flies out the door in a seething rage. In his haste, he doesn't even notice bumping into his dinner plate, sending it to the floor where the gravy and stoneware splatter all over the ground. He never even hears the crash as he's already half way across the Gallery by the time that it reaches the floor.

Moments later, he slams through the art storage room's door, startling Audrey, making her jump and turn to stare at him wide eyed. Before she can get a word out, he's on her and grabs the chair she's sitting in sending it sailing into the book case with her still in it. She hits the side of her face on the shelving as she falls out of her seat and a second later, books are falling on top of her. She's so stunned by the sudden violence that at first she doesn't move to get out of the way of the tumbling tomes and she barely notices the blood now trickling down her face.

"You stupid, foolish woman!" he yells at her as he opens up the mail program she thought she had hidden. "Do you have any idea what you've done!?"

He turns and glares at her, finding that she's cowering under the fallen books and the knocked over chair. Two long strides and he's towering over her cowering form. He drags her to her feet so quickly that she stumbles into him before she manages to steady herself amongst the pile of books.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?" he snarls through clenched teeth as he grabs her by the shoulders, pulling her up until her feet dangle above the fallen books and gives her a hard shake. "Have you!?"

He gives her another sharp shake to punctuate his last question and her only response is a small whimper as her tears mingles with the blood trickling down her face. His fingers dig painfully into her flesh and the cut stings but it's nothing compared to the pain of knowing that she's lost all communication with the twins. She lets out a cry of anguish as her chin drops to her chest and she starts sobbing, completely oblivious to his anger now while her personal pain takes over her brain.

She barely notices him walking somewhere with her still in his clutches or when she unceremoniously dumped into a hard chair or when he stomps away from her. A few moments later, her face is roughly washed with a wet towel and she doesn't even flinch as the cut is cleaned, an antiseptic ointment is put on it or when a bandage is taped in place. It hardly even registers when she's lifted from the chair, carried across the Gallery and then dumped on the couch. She curls up into a ball on the cushions and sobs her heart out until he drags her into an upright position.

"Watch!" he orders.

She turns towards the now turned on telly and he hits the play button for the DVD player. A moment later, Percy and his men come up on the screen and she gasps and tries to become as small as possible as recognition sets in. By the time Percy is giving the order to search the old tubes, she's panicking, sobbing hysterically and hyperventilating. V grabs her by the shoulders, dragging her to her feet again and starts shaking her, yelling her name to try and snap her out of it, but to no avail.

"**AUDREY**!" he shouts at the top of his lungs as he gives her another sharp shake.

She lets out a screaming wail in response and then collapses in a heap at his feet when he releases her. Angry and frustrated, he leaves her there on the floor, disappearing into the depths of the Gallery. A minute later he returns with a syringe in his hand and finds that the situation hasn't changed.

Without even bothering to clean the injection site first, he stabs the needle into her upper arm near her shoulder and quickly depresses the plunger and she doesn't even flinch in response of being stabbed. He backs away and watches as the drug slowly takes effect of her body. After she finally loses consciousness some time later, he carries her back to her room and leaves her there.

V returns to his observation room and starts bringing up live video feed of the various cameras he has spread out throughout the tube system, ignoring the mess on the floor. He immediately finds that several abandoned tunnels are no longer dark and empty and he resists the urge to go out there and dispense these foolhardy souls who travel in his domain. As he brings up the last camera, he's given what at first is an unpleasant shock, but then ideas that are quickly forming into plans, parade through his brain.

* * *

"This is a huge festering pile of bullocks it is," Evans grumbles as he sweeps his torch back and forth around the tunnel, trying not to break his ankle on all the rubble and garbage strewn about the ground. "What the bloody hell are we supposed to be lookin' for anyways?"

"We're supposed to be lookin' for the major's wife or anythin' that might lead us to her," Blaire answers as he shines his torch into every likely crevice he can find. "Don't bloody well see how Finch thinks she'd be down here though."

"It's them emails that the kids got," Evans replies as he accidentally kicks something that explodes all over his new shoes, ruining them and splattering the leg of his uniform. "Ah, bloody hell. I just bought these."

"I still don't get how she got InterLink connection down here," Blaire continues, completely oblivious to his partner's plight.

"Who cares," Evans grouses. "Let's just hurry up and check our section and then get the hell out of here. This place gives me the willies."

"After my shift I'm hittin' the pub," Blaire agrees. "It's goin' to take more than a couple o' pints to wash the stink of this place out of my mouth."

"I hear ya," Evans mutters.

The two police men continue their exploration of the man made cave through puddles of stagnant water and around pieces of fallen masonry. The dull echo of their footsteps does nothing to improve their mood and when a chunk of ceiling falls within inches of them, they both jump back and shoot it without thinking. They both give a nervous laugh before continuing on, neither one aware that their movements are being watched.

* * *

"Ya sure about this, boss?" Tommy nervously asks, not wanting to upset his boss as he carefully inspects a hole under the platform of the station they're exploring.

"Where else could the little bint be?" Percy demands heatedly. "Short of searching every house in London, this is the only place we haven't looked."

"So, what are ya plans for her once we do find her?" Tommy inquires as he gets to his feet and meticulously starts searching for other hiding spots.

"I'm gonna make her my own personal pet," Percy snarls while his torch illuminates the garbage and rubble. "My old one isn't meeting my standards any more. I want to put the little bitch's training to good use before I turn her over to the breeders. If we can get the eye or hair color or better yet both to breed true, then we'll be getting a nice crop of exotics to sell. People are getting' tired of the blonds and brunettes and the blue and brown eyes. Green eyes and red hair and we can pass off the whelps as part Scottish."

"The missus doesn't mind you havin' your own personal bed warmer?" Tommy questions as they move further down the tunnel.

"Why should she?" Percy scoffs, being very careful of where he steps. "She's got her own whippin' boy at home. Gave him to her myself. As a bonus, he's also the stud I sell the most seed from. That boy produces seed by the gallon just about. The missus loves doing the bondage thing and he gets it up just seein' a ridin' crop."

"Ah, so that's where you've been hidin' that stud," Tommy chuckles. "I was wonderin' where he was. The brats that we get with his seed are pretty darn good lookin' and we're almost guaranteed buyers when word gets out that we're expectin' another of his get."

"That's why I keep him under lock and key with the missus," Percy laughs. "Can't have the competition comin' in and stealin' my prize stud. I wonder what a brat from him and out of our missin' bitch would look like."

"Either butt ugly or the best lookin' kid we've seen in a long time," Tommy replies.

"Probably, but first we've got to find her," Percy softly growls. "When I get my hands on her, I'm going to make sure she knows her place and never forgets it."

* * *

Several miles from either search party, V pours over an old tube system map, planning and plotting the early demise of Percy and his men. As one part of his brain works on that, another conceives of ways to get the Nose off of Audrey's scent. Down another corridor, an unconscious woman lies completely unaware of what fate has in store for her.

* * *

Hours later, Audrey wakes with a pounding headache and a pressing need to visit the bathroom. Clumsily she climbs out of bed and immediately collapses to the floor. It takes her several tries to get to her feet and when she does finally accomplish getting up, she clings to the door frame as a severe case of dizziness makes her feel like she has been on a carousel all night.

She staggers out into the hallway, hugging the wall to stay upright. She moves with her eyes closed since the walls and floor sway and buckle as if they're made of rubber when she looks at them, opening them only occasionally to check her position. Eventually she lurches her way across the hall towards the loo and stumbles in, slamming the door shut only after she manages to catch the dancing portal.

She never notices the dark figure watching her silently from the end of the hallway waiting to see what she'll do next. Every nerve in his body is taught with anger as he glares at closed door. The drug shouldn't have worn off yet and from the way she was moving it looks like that it's still in her system, but that doesn't mean she won't try something stupid like contacting the twins.

Sometime later, she stumbles out of the bathroom like she's very drunk and only gets a few steps past the threshold before she trips over her own feet. She goes down with a 'thud' and she just lies there for a few minutes. He watches her, unmoving, as she slowly tries to crawl over to the wall.

She gets several feet down the corridor as she moves more parallel to the wall then perpendicular to it. She stops and reaches for the wall after a while, but is several inches shy of her goal. He passively watches as she bites her bottom lip while silent tears roll down her face, a look of frustration on her features tells him that her vision is being affected by the drug as well as her balance.

With a puff of frustration, he stomps over to her and yanks her to her feet, propping her against the wall as soon as she's got her feet under her. She looks up at him and screams so loud and high pitched that he actually jumps back a good bit as his overly sensitive hearing is assaulted. She tries to run away, but trips and lands on her hands and knees on the unforgiving stone floor. After shaking the ringing out of his ears, he goes to help her get to her feet only to have her immediately curl into a ball at his feet, whimpering in fear.

"Audrey," he calls in a commanding voice. "It's V. Keep your eyes closed. The drug I gave you is affecting your vision. Hold still and I will carry you back to bed. Do you understand?"

She only nods and he bends down to pick her up, when she recognizes his scent, she visibly relaxes, making it easier to lift her up. As soon as she's in his arms, she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, startling him for a second time. She buries her face into his neck and starts to cry, causing him to nearly drop her.

"What's wrong with me?" she sobs as her body shivers uncontrollably.

"It's the drug I gave you," he explains again as he heads towards her bedroom as quickly as he can.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers, as her trembling gets worse and she holds him even tighter, nearly cutting off his air. "I'll be a good girl. I promise. I'll be good. Please, please no more drugs. I'll do what you want, master."

"I'm not your master," he reminds her as he tries to peel her arms off of his neck while standing over her bed.

"Train me like you want, but please no more drugs," she whispers as her crying intensifies.

"I'm not your master or your trainer," he firmly states as he finally gets her to let go and drops her on the bed unceremoniously.

He stares down at her as she curls back into a ball and continues to sob, begging for mercy, swearing that she'll be good until exhaustion claims her. He watches her for a few more minutes to make sure that she's truly asleep before letting out a sigh of frustration and pity. He covers her with a blanket before he leaves her and heads back to his maps and planning.

He sits back down with the maps, but he doesn't look at them or the monitors showing still a few men wandering the tunnels in a vain attempt to find them. He never realized that using one of the stronger sedatives would have this type of effect on her and he never expected it to bring up painful memories of her past. He contemplates his past or what little of it he remembers of it.

He remembers waking up in his cell, cold, hungry and in pain, wearing nothing but the medical garb all of the 'subjects' wore. He can recall everything in lurid detail from that point on, but nothing before it. He knows that he must have been beaten, nearly starved, used as a guinea pig and humiliated in every way possible before that waking, but try as he might, he cannot remember.

What must it be like for her? To remember every atrocity and humiliation? To never be able to forget them? To have them come and haunt her in her sleep?

As much as he hates what they did to him and the others and how it burns his guts that the worst of the instigators still live and breathe, he at least has the small blessing of never being able to remember everything they did to him. She does not have that luxury and she probably never will.

He turns his attention to a monitor showing a few of Percy's men examining every square inch of a tunnel several miles away and glares at them. It's men like them that did this to her and others like her, making them afraid of their own shadows. Then it dawns on him that even if he did get hold of her ownership papers and destroy them, she'd never be free of her fears. He sits back and sightlessly stares at the monitors as he contemplates how to truly set her free.

* * *

As always, please leave a review. 


	18. Sforzando

**Author's Notes:** Yes, I'm still alive and kicking (and screaming, but that's another story). At any rate, sorry about the delay, life combined with a stubborn muse has left me a bit stuck, but things are starting to roll along nicely now. I hope. As always, please enjoy and then leave a review.

* * *

V kneels on the floor in the middle of the Gallery, the maps to the old, defunct Tube system spread out before him. He hears her door open and he suppresses his displeasure as he mentally takes down notes, his plan slowly taking form. A few moments later, the sound of retching has him on his feet and moving towards the corridor that leads to her room faster than a thought. 

By the time he reaches the hallway, she's cowering against the wall, sobbing uncontrollably. There's a wet spot on the floor near her and even the mask can't filter out the stench of bile that fills the area. The instant she sees him she starts whimpering and trembling, pushing herself into the wall and curling into a tight ball as if she can escape from him that way.

With a sigh of disgust, he turns on his heel and goes off to get cleaning supplies. By the time he returns, she's moved closer to the bathroom and thrown up again, this time thoroughly getting her front in the process. He barely suppresses his ire as he puts down the cleaning items and walks over to her.

She tries to make herself as small as possible as he steps up to her, but it makes no difference. He reaches down, grabs her by the waist and easily lifts her as she continues to whimper in fear. He swiftly carries her into the bathroom, holding her at arms length and unceremoniously dumps her into the tub where he turns on the shower, not caring what the temperature is set for.

He goes to clean up the messes she's made in the hallway and returns sometime later to find that she's still curled up in the bath with her clothes on and the freezing cold water beating down on her. He turns up the heat, briefly taking his glove off to check the temperature before sliding it back on. He grabs a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap and drops them in the tub with her before heading for the door.

"Strip, wash yourself, turn off the water, dry off, get out and then dress in clean, dry clothes," he orders. "When you accomplish that, I want you to go to the kitchen and wait for me there. We need to talk."

With that, he firmly closes the door behind himself and a cold shiver runs down her spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. The tone of voice he had used in that last sentence would have made even the cruelest of trainers she ever had shudder in fear. But not wishing for a repeat performance of yesterday, she begins to strip herself of her sodden clothes to perform the tasks he's laid out before her.

* * *

Even moving as fast as she can, it still takes her over an hour to become presentable. She staggers across the Gallery and into the kitchen; a thin sheen of sweat covers her body as she gasps for air while she tries to keep from having any more dry heaves. Trembling, she collapses into a chair at the table, convulsively swallowing and she really wishes the world would stop spinning. 

When V finally enters the kitchen, the world has steadied, the sweat has dried and she feels like she needs another shower. She takes one look at him and she starts trembling again, breaking out into a cold sweat. She stares down at the table top when he turns to look at her and she can hear him make a disapproving sound.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he forcefully states.

She doesn't reply, but touches the side of her face that's bruised and scabbed over.

"Not right now at any rate," he says menacingly.

She doesn't collapse in a heap, but the tears start anew, leaving wet trails down her cheeks.

"You disobeyed me," he snarls, leaning over the table towards her. "All of your supposed training and you disobeyed me. I saved your life and I should be the one person in this world you should obey without question."

"How?" she whispers.

"How what?" he growls.

"How did Ah disobey ya?" she softly asks, still staring at the table.

"HOW DID YOU DISOBEY ME!?" he repeats incredulously and she winces at the volume. "**HOW**!? I tell you to not contact the major's children and you ask me 'how'!?"

"No, ya didn't," she mumbles, staring at her hands in her lap.

"I didn't what?" he demands, his voice low and threatening.

"Ya didn't tell meh not to contact 'em," she answers, her voice shaking almost as badly as her body. "Ya told me Ah couldn't see 'em again, not that Ah couldn't contact them. An' I didn't ask ya ta save my life. Ah asked ya ta end it."

She closes her eyes and braces herself for the blow that is sure to come. Maybe if she's lucky he'll hit her hard enough to either knock her out or better yet, he'll give her enough of an injury that'll leave her senseless for the rest of her days. Instead of the expected beating, he places he hands on the table in front of her and leans over the piece of furniture until he's close enough for her to hear him breathing through the mask.

"You disobeyed me," he softly growls.

"Ah did not," she whispers.

"Yes, you did!" he insists rather loudly as he slams his fist on the table, causing her to jump and something inside of her just snaps.

"Ah did not!" she shoots back, her head snapping up to stare him in the mask. "Ya always told meh not to hurt myself or your home. Ya didn't say anythin' about sendin' them an email."

"You knew better," he grinds out between clenched teeth.

"Ya told me Ah was free," she snaps. "Yet, here Ah am day after day stuck down here, never seein' the sun while you're flittin' about doin' God knows what. How can ya possible expect meh to just forget about those boys when they were the only bright light in that dark hole Ah called a life? An' while you haven't done meh as much harm as Michael did, the knowledge that you won't let me see those boys again is just as cruel as any beatin' Ah ever got. A gilded cage is still a cage, V."

"There are men from both the Nose and Shire Stables searching the tunnels looking for this place and they're down there because of you," he growls.

"Then do as Ah asked you to do when we first met and kill meh!" she yells, coming to her feet bringing her face to his mask. "Leave my body where they'll find meh an' then ya won't have to worry about your precious home and whatever the hell it is your doin' down here!"

In a movement that the eye can't follow, he whips out one of his knives from God only knows where and holds it to her throat, the point on the verge of piercing the skin. She draws a sharp breath in both surprise and fear as she feels the sharp tip just above her jugular vein and then just as quickly as the fear came, it leaves as an odd sense of peace comes over her. The knowledge that it'll all be over soon and there will be no more pain and no more nightmares and no more suffering and it actually brings her comfort.

"Do it," she states in a calm, steady voice, her tears drying on her cheeks. "It's the least ya can do for those boys."

"How do you mean?" he asks and she can practically hear his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Ruth and her husband were strugglin' to make ends meet before you killed Michael," she explains. "Now they've got a couple extra mouths to feed and they're doin' even worse. As long as the government thinks that Ah'm alive, the boys won't get one red cent of Michael's money and Ruth and her husband will either have to give the boys over to the government to raise or lose their flat. Kill meh and it'll make everythin' easier on everyone."

"Don't you want to live?" he asks.

"Not if it means those boys suffer," she answers, lifting her chin a little higher. "Do it."

She waits passively for the pain to start, idly wondering if it'll hurt more than the throbbing in her head. Several seconds pass as bright green eyes stare at the black screen covered eye holes of the mask, trying to see the eyes of the man who's about to murder her. The seconds stretch out to what seems like hours as neither one of them moves, both staring at each other in silence.

Suddenly, the knife is gone, returned from whence it came and he gives an approving nod as he stands up straight once more. She blinks several times as she looks at him in bewilderment, her hand absently rubbing the spot where the knife had been. He comes around to her side of the table, takes her chin in his hand and turns her face so that he can see the mark he had left there the day before.

"Even if I do kill you and leave you for them to find, Shire Stables now knows of this place," he states. "One way or another, they will have to be dealt with. It'll probably leave a small scar, but nothing too noticeable."

"If Ah'm dead, why would they keep lookin' for this place?" she asks, refusing to sit back down despite how hard her knees are shaking.

"Because they know there's money to be had here," he states as he releases the confused woman's face and then turns towards the icebox. "Men like Percy will go to a great deal of trouble to get something if they think that it's worth it and that they can get away with it. I think breakfast first and then it will be time to start your training."

"What?" she asks in complete befuddlement as he starts pulling items from the fridge and then his last sentence fully registers. "No! No more trainin'!"

"Excuse me?" he asks as he straightens up.

"Ah said no more trainin'!" she repeats heatedly. "Ah'm not some animal an' Ah will _not_ be trained! An' Ah don't want bacon an' eggs for breakfast."

"You are correct, you're not an animal," he replies with a nod. "I was not planning on training you to behave the way I see fit; I am going to teach you to defend yourself."

"Oh," she responds in a small voice, her cheeks starting to warm in embarrassment.

"Might I ask what you have against bacon and eggs?" he inquires as he puts the items away.

"My stomach's still queasy," she admits as she puts a hand on her tummy. "Ah'm afraid that'll just come right back up again."

"Ah, I see," he says as he closes the appliance's door. "Then what would you like for breakfast?"

"Oatmeal or porridge," she answers. "Somethin' bland. Ah can make it myself if you like."

"Very well," he nods as he opens one of the cupboards. "You'll find what you need in there. I will go get the training room ready for your first lesson and then we need to talk about what needs to be done about the current situation."

"How close are the Nose and Shire Stables to finding this place?" she asks quietly.

"Fortunately, not very close," he answers as he begins to leave. "But given enough time, they will find it and that is something I'd like to avoid."

"Ah don't suppose sayin' Ah'm sorry is gonna help," she suggests.

"No, it won't," he retorts just before he disappears around a corner.

"Ah thought not," she says quietly to herself as she goes to make her breakfast.

* * *

"Ah'm sorry, V, Ah just can't do this," she pants as they stand in the training room, sweat pouring from places she didn't know she had sweat glands. 

"You can and you will," he states firmly as he approaches her once more.

"V, Ah have been lyin' or sittin' around this place for the past month like a big lump," she points out. "How in the world can ya expect me to be able to be strong enough to do any of the things ya're showin' me?"

"Oh, but you haven't been sitting around like a 'big lump'," he tells her as he circles her like a big black cat. "You have been walking around that storage room carrying around some rather sizable pieces of artwork and what I'm showing you doesn't require all that much strength, just the ability to know how to break free."

"That doesn't mean Ah have your strength or stamina," she tells him as she watches him circle around behind her.

"I would become most worried if you ever did," he chuckles. "My point is that you haven't been sitting around all this time. You simply need to work up some stamina and you need to learn to defend yourself without thinking about it."

Before she can even blink he has one arm around her neck and the other around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. She lets out a startled squeak and then shrieks as he kicks her legs out from underneath her. She tries to land as he's shown her, but instead gets the wind knocked out of her when she hits the matt flat on her back and there are spots dancing in front of her eyes when he lands on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

She tries to drag air into her lungs as he holds her to the matt, his weight keeping her from fully expanding her lungs. She feebly struggles against his superior strength and weight and then gives up with barely a whimper. With a sound of disgust, he gets off of her, stands up and drags her to her feet. She grabs hold of his arm in order to stay on her feet and she can practically feel him glaring at her from behind that damn mask.

"Ah…Ah…Ah just can't do it," she gasps, not caring how much he dislikes being held onto.

"You can do this," he states firmly.

"How long have we been goin' at this?" she asks as she slowly gets her breath back and loosens her grip on him.

"About three hours," he answers as he peels her fingers off of his arm.

"Three hours!" she yelps in surprise. "No wonder Ah feel like Ah'm gonna drop."

He looks at her critically for a few moments and then lets out a resigned sigh.

"Very well," he grumbles. "Go get cleaned up and then we'll discuss my plans for the hapless fools who are wandering in my domain."

She just nods and then staggers out of the training room, headed for her room for clean clothes and then a shower.

* * *

"Are you ready?" he asks as she fidgets nervously beside him. 

"As ready as Ah'll ever be, Ah suppose," she answers as fingers the wig she's wearing.

"Don't fidget so," he gently admonishes as he casually swings his walking stick.

"Ah'm livin' bait for the men who want to hurt me and I'm not supposed to fidget?" she snorts while he leads her up the stairs of the closed tube station.

"Point taken," he replies with a nod. "But please stop playing with your wig or your cut will be quite visible."

"Sorry," she mutters. "I'm just nervous."

"I will be there to protect you," he reminds her.

"You're supposed to be a gimpy old man," she points out.

"And you're supposed to be mute," he counters. "That being the case I suggest you stop talking in case someone accidentally hears you."

She opens her mouth to answer him and then quickly shuts it, finally nodding her response.

"Good," he says with approval. "Wait here and I'll see if the area is clear."

He leaves her in a shadowed alcove while he heads the rest of the way to the surface. She watches this strange man in yet another of his disguises as he moves smoothly up the steps. She can already feel her muscles starting to ache from the work out he gave her earlier and the long walk to get to this particular station isn't going to help any.

"It's clear," she hears him call softly. "Please hurry."

She quickly joins him at the top of the stairs as quietly as she can, but making way too much noise if the look on his latex covered face is anything to go by. With another of his disapproving sighs, he takes her arm and then quietly peeks out the entrance to the station they're in. Without a word, he slips out the door, pulling her along behind him and by some miracle she manages to make it through without catching either herself, her clothes or the basket she's carrying on the door or its frame.

As soon as they're in the darkened alley way, he takes on the role of feeble old man being escorted by his mute granddaughter. Quietly they make their way towards the busy street and she can feel her heart starting to race and her palms begin to sweat. But a few moments later, all thoughts of the Nose and Shire Stables are wiped from her mind as for the first time in a month she feels the most wonderful sensation on her skin.

The sun warms her to her very soul and she stops for a moment to just bask in its radiance. V gives her a bit before giving an impatient, but gentle tug on her arm. She ignores him as she turns her face towards that glowing disk in the sky, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, immediately coughing as a passing coach's exhaust fills her lungs.

"Are you quite through?" he irritably whispers in her ear and she chokes as she nods 'yes'. "Good, the market is just down the street and over a block."

She nods that she understood him and they slowly make their way down the street towards the open market under the pretext of buying fresh fruits and vegetables. The process is slow going as V plays a very convincing elderly gentleman, occasionally stopping to catch his breath in places that just happen to in view of one of the many cameras watching the city. Despite the joy of feeling the sun on her skin again, she's a bundle of nerves and by the time they do finally make it to the market she's sure she's going to faint.

He gives her arm a reassuring squeeze and she gives him a small smile, taking comfort in the fact that she knows that hidden in his ill fitting clothes are enough knives to take down at least a dozen Fingermen. She takes a calming breath and they head into the square where the farmers have brought their goods into the city to sell. Within minutes she's haggling with the vendors, the inability to speak barely slowing her down and he watches, duly impressed by her ability to overcome an imposed handicap.

"You certainly have a nose for finding the bargains, my dear, but don't you think we have enough," he says and she glances around nervously.

She spots a policeman nearby, casting them sidelong glances every once and a while and she quickly nods her agreement. Careful to keep as many people between them and officer as they can, they make their way out of the market as fast as they can while trying to appear that they're not hurrying. A more nerve wracking experience she's never had and by the time they do make it back out onto the street, she's pretty sure she's going to have a heart attack.

They casually stroll down the avenue, never losing contact with each other, but not stopping for a rest as they make their way to an alley with a service entrance to the tunnels that will take them home. They barely manage to slip through the old, rusted grate and out of sight before the policeman steps into the alleyway looking for them. The two of them hide just out of the line of sight in the shadows knowing that if they move, they'll be spotted. He presses her against the rough bricks, shielding her body with his as a cloak that had been strategically placed there, waiting there for them is draped over the two of them, blending them further into the darkness.

It seems to take an eternity for the policeman to finally leave and she's not sure if she's breathed the entire time that he's searching that alley. Only after V is sure the man is gone does he step back, take the basket of produce from her sweaty fingers and leads her back underground. Once they are safely underground, he relaxes though remains on the alert for any one who might be in the area.

She follows him quietly, lost in her own thoughts, not really paying attention to where they're going. It's not until she runs into his back does she realize he's stopped walking. He looks back at her with an amused look on his face before turning his attention back to opening the hidden door that leads to the Shadow Gallery.

"You've been awfully quiet, Audrey," he says after they've entered the Gallery proper and he's locked the door behind them. "Is something troubling you?"

"When this is all over, what are ya gonna do with meh?" she asks. "Ah can't stay down here forever, V. Maybe ya'all like livin' like a gopher, but Ah need the sun."

"I have some ideas, but for now, let us concentrate on the present," he replies as he heads for the kitchen. "I will put away the food. I believe you have an email to compose."

"So Ah do," she sighs as she heads for the art storage room.


	19. Chord

"How much further into dept are you going to drive us before you give this up?" he growls as she walks into the kitchen.

"They're my sister's children, Tim, I can't just abandon them," she snaps back at him, tired of this conversation, one they've had a few too many times the past few weeks.

"The creditors are startin' to call, Ruth," he snarls, waving a bunch of unpaid bills under her nose.

"The Chief Inspector called earlier," she states, turning away from him to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. "They think they have a lead. A woman matching Georgia's description was seen in a market near Westminster Abby."

"Hate to break it to you, but there are a lot of women with brown hair and eyes," he replies in a surly tone of voice.

"How many of them communicate using hand gestures and whistles?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Bloody hell," he whispers, the shock of the news stunning him for a moment. "Do they really think it's her?"

"They aren't positive, but they have a lot of video of her in the area," she answers as she starts to wash the dishes from dinner. "Finch brought me printouts of the pictures taken and it sure looks like her though she's wearing a wig and dark glasses."

"So, where is she?" he questions harshly.

"They don't know," she sighs. "She went down an alleyway and never came out. The bobby that was following them couldn't figure out where they went."

"Them?" he questions.

"She was with an old man," she tells him, rinsing a glass and putting it in the drying rack. "And before you ask, I haven't the foggiest idea who he was. The boys don't think it's the guy that killed their dad."

"Even if they do find her, there's no guarantee they'll let her go back to raisin' the twins," he warns her quietly.

"I know," she sighs. "But right now it's the only hope that we've got. I just wish there was a way for this to be over and our lives could go back to normal."

"Hopes and wishes don't pay the piper," he snorts. "We still have to figure out how to pay these bills."

"I know, Tim, I know," she replies wearily. "Let's not fight about it tonight. The twins are still awake."

"What the bloody hell are they still doing up?" he demands.

"They've practically been bouncing off of the walls since the Inspector came to visit," she responds. "This is better proof that she's alive than the emails. They're checking their Good Boys every few minutes to see if she's emailed them again. I doubt they're going to be getting much sleep tonight."

"Not only are these two going to eat us out of house and home, but we can't even have sex," he nearly yells. "When the bloody hell is this going to end?"

"They probably heard that," she points out as she rinses a plate.

"I don't bloody well care!" he shouts before storming out of the kitchen.

She takes a slow ragged breath as she continues washing the dishes, ignoring the fact that the tears make it very hard to see what she's doing.

* * *

"So, what da ya think?" she asks nervously as a black form looms up behind her.

"Vague enough to give nothing away, but at the same time gives the Inspector something to mull over," he replies a few moments later. "Was it really necessary to add that entire bit about your feelings for them? It's not like you're really their mother."

"V, if you ever decide to go to a convention of adoptive parents, I want to be there," she states, turning in her seat to scowl up at him.

"Why?" he asks, perplexed.

"So I can watch them tear you limb from limb," she growls, glaring up at him. "One doesn't have to give birth to a child to love it."

"You do realize that I cannot allow you to go back to pretending to be their mother," he calmly states.

"Tell meh, V, when did ya become such a cold and heartless bastard or were ya just born that way?" she demands just before abruptly standing up, shoving her chair back into him and storming out of the room.

He calmly watches her go before reaching over and clicking the 'send' button on the computer. Once he's done, he calmly returns to the main part of the Gallery and easily finds her in the kitchen furiously chopping up some of the fresh vegetables that they purchased earlier in the day. He looks at her face and is surprised to fine tears coursing down her cheeks. After a moment, he realizes that they aren't tears of fear or sadness, but of anger. The woman is furious and unfortunately for the food, she's taking it out on their dinner.

"Perhaps I should do that," he suggests as he steps towards her and comes up short when the knife she's holding is suddenly pointed at his person. "I will thank you to point that somewhere else."

"How dare ya," she hisses.

"Beg pardon?" he questions, a bit confused.

"How dare ya come in, screw up my already messed up life even more and then tell meh that the one thang that made my life worth livin' I can never have again," she snarls, the knife never wavering. "Give meh one good reason why I shouldn't gut you right now and take my chances with the Nose."

"I believe I've created a monster," he chuckles, moving no closer to her, but not backing down either. "There is still the little matter of Shire Stables is looking for you. And how do you plan on getting out of here? The locks require codes to get in or out."

"Ah'm neither blind nor am Ah stupid, V," she snaps. "Ah watched what you did to get out of here. As for Shire Stables, there's enough food in here to last meh a while. Enough time for the Nose to take care of them Ah would think, especially if Ah have the boys just have Finch contact me directly. Ah imagine ya've got some sort of surveillance room around here somewhere. I could tell them exactly where those low life sons of bitches are hidin'."

"And what would you do after that?" he asks. "Inspector Finch knows you're not Georgia Jones."

"Money talks, it always has," she answers simply. "I'm sure there are quite a few art collectors out there that would pay a pretty penny for some of the stuff you have down here."

"Everything down here is considered objectionable material," he points out. "How do you intend to sell it?"

"Ruth and Tim know people who know people," she tells him. "She told me once that they just barely escaped bein' bagged by Creedy's men because of Michael."

"Very cleaver, a bit mercenary, but cleaver," he admits, nodding his head in approval. "There is one thing that you've overlooked, I'm afraid."

"What's that?" she demands, eyes narrowing.

Before her brain can register him moving, she's pinned between him and the sink and he has a very painful grip of her wrist. The knife slips out of her nerveless fingers and clatters on the floor as she gasps in pain, but she refuses to give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. Too many years of taking beatings in silence have taught her to do that.

"You still haven't learned to defend yourself," he growls softly in her ear before stepping back and roughly pushing her towards the door. "Go take a bath. Your muscles are probably already starting to stiffen up. I will finish making dinner."

"What if I don't want to take a bath?" she challenges, sounding a bit like a petulant child.

"Then don't," he replies with an indifferent shrug. "But I doubt your muscles will be thanking you in the morning."

With that, he turns his back on her and bends over to pick up the dropped knife, presenting a very tempting target of his well shaped backside. Resisting the urge to give him a well deserved swift kick in the ass; she turns and returns to her room. When he comes to tell her that dinner is ready, he finds her sound asleep on her bed and still fully clothed. He covers her with a blanket, turns off the light and leaves her to her well earned rest while he goes to plan more mayhem.

* * *

She finishes cleaning up in the kitchen and with a resigned sigh, hangs the dishtowel up to dry before turning out the light. She steps out into the family room and sees Tim watching the telly in the darkened room, the light flickering from the set gives the only light by which to see. He's slouched down on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest and anger radiating off of him in waves.

She knows there's no point in trying to talk to him until after he's calmed down. It doesn't help that they can't afford for him to go down to the local pub and get a pint to help him relax and their sex life is almost non-existent since the twins moved in. She feels like she's being pulled in three different directions at once and it's killing her inside.

On the one hand, she wants everything to be as it was, but she knows that's impossible. She wishes there was a way to prove that her sister is dead, but with no evidence, that's also nothing more than a pipe dream. Her only hope now is that they find this woman, who's essentially a stranger and hope that they let her go back to raising the boys.

With a tired sigh that she feels down in her soul, she heads for her bedroom. She idly wonders if Tim will join her tonight or if he'll fall asleep on the couch again. She sees the light on in the boy's room and is about to tell them to turn it off when the sound of them yelling makes her jump a couple of inches off of the ground.

"Aunt Ruth! Aunt Ruth!" they yell as they tumble out of their room, slamming into the wall across from the door in their haste to get out of the room.

"What is it?" she wearily asks.

"It's Mum," Philip excitedly answers.

"She sent us an email," Charles continues.

"It was her," Philip adds.

"What was her?" she questions.

"The lady in the market," Charles clarifies.

"Those pictures we saw _were_ of her," Philip states as he hands his Good Boy over to her.

Ruth looks down at the small device in her hand and a wave of dizziness makes her lean against the wall as she reads.

_My dearest loves,_

_I had the most wonderful time today. For the first time in a month I felt the sun on my face. I never realized how good it felt to just let it warm my skin until this afternoon. The Man was nice enough to let a friend of his take me to the market and buy vegetables. I still have no idea where I am since nothing looked familiar, but even the smell of coach exhaust is better than the stale air of being stuck indoors all of the time. The Man says that since I was so good that he's willing to let me go out more often._

_I've asked him when he'll let me come home to you, but he won't give me an answer. I'm not sure why I'm still here. I think sometimes that he's lonely and at other times I think he's a bit loony. He's probably a bit of both. I know you must be wondering why I didn't try to escape today, but he's promised to hurt you two if I ever tried. I would sooner suffer a thousand deaths than let anything bad happen to either of you if I can help it._

_I must go now. I love you both with all of my heart and miss you more than you can possibly know. Take care and be good for Aunt Ruth and Uncle Tim._

_Love, _

_Mum_

"Have you forwarded this to the Inspector?" she quietly asks as she hands the Good Boy back to its owner.

"I just did while you were reading it," Charles tells her.

"Good, now we'll let the police handle it," she tells them. "Go to bed you two. You've got school in the morning and you'll not be doing' anyone any favors by staying' up all night."

"But aren't we gonna to _do_ something?" Philip demands.

"We have," she answers. "We've let the Inspector know that it was your mum that was spotted."

"But we could go there…," Philip starts to argue.

"And do what?" she asks. "Boys, the man who killed your father is a very dangerous man. He told your mum that he'd hurt the two of you if she disobeyed him. What do you think he'd do to her if you tried anything' foolish?"

"What about the Finger?" Philip suggests.

"Why would the Finger get involved in a kidnapping case?" she questions. "We'll just have to rely on Inspector Finch and his men. Now, please, go to bed."

There's some minor grumbling from the twins, but they return to their room and quietly shut the door behind them. She doesn't have to turn around to know that Tim's behind her and she pushes herself away from the wall. She starts to walk away and he follows her into their bedroom, silently shutting the door behind him.

"You really think the Inspector can find her?" he softly asks as she starts to get ready for bed.

"He's the only hope we've got," she tells him in a hushed voice. "I don't care to think what would happen to her if the Finger got involved. Or to us."

"You'd really think they'd hurt her," he states.

"She's not their real mother," she quietly points out. "Knowing' the Fingermen's methods, they'd figure that out right quick and then where would we be? With our luck they'd then suddenly claim the estate was evidence and we'd be left high and dry while the money from Michael's bank account disappeared into Sutler's or Creedy's."

"You're probably right," he sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed. "I wish there was something we could do."

"I know, but we're just going to have to trust Finch to find her and for him to let her go back to being their mum," she replies as she starts to strip.

"That's not what I was talkin' about," he whispers as he comes to stand next to her. "The government…"

"Shhhh!" she hisses, quickly turning to face him. "You know the walls have ears now. Be careful. If they take us, even just one of us, then where would the boys be?"

"It's always about the boys," he grumbles, starting to turn away from her.

"Where would I be without you?" she asks, gently touching his arm.

He turns to look down at her and she gazes back at him with sad eyes. He reaches up and gently caresses her face and when a tear rolls down her cheek he brushes it away with his thumb. She takes a ragged breath and he gathers her into his arms, quietly holding her as she cries all of her stress and worries out onto his shoulder. When she's cried out, he leads her to their bed where they spend a good amount of time gently loving each other.

* * *

Bleary eyed, Dominic Stone stares at his monitor watching the surveillance tape of a mystery woman who may or may not be their missing slave. He's watched the tape so many times he'll probably be having nightmares about it for weeks to come. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and rubs his face, trying to stay awake and figure out where the woman and her elderly escort disappeared to.

"Bloody hell," Dominic moans. "I can't figure out how they got out of that alley. How can we be sure it was even her?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure," Finch replies with a bit of a smile playing on his lips as he spins his monitor around for Dominic to see the email forwarded to him.

"Our boy's pretty brazen isn't he?" Dominic snorts. "Cheeky bastard."

"Sooner or later, he's going to make a mistake and when he does, we'll be waiting for him," Finch states confidently.

"And when we do, what then?" Dominic asks. "What do we do with her?"

"I'm not sure," Finch sighs. "With her help, we could close Shire Stables down for good."

"But to do that, we'll have to reveal that she's not Georgia Jones," Dominic reminds her. "Any clue where she's from originally?"

"No, but I'm guessing she's not from around here," Finch says as he turns his monitor to face him again. "This is just one big headache. If we let her go back to pretending to being the kid's mum, we can't close down Shire Stables and who knows how many others continue their lives as slaves. If we use her as our witness to close them down, the kids lose their mum and she'll probably disappear into one of Creedy's bags. Either way, someone's life is going to be totally ruined."

"Damned if we do and damned if we don't," Dominic grumbles.

"Exactly," Finch agrees with a sad nod as he sits back in his chair. "One way or another, someone's going to get the short end of the stick. The question is: who?"


	20. Phrase

"Ya're either the bravest man Ah've ever known or the stupidest," she states as he walks into the kitchen the next morning.

"Why is that, Audrey?" he asks, a curious tilt to his head.

"After what Ah did last night and ya didn't lock up the knives?" she queries with a raised eyebrow. "That makes ya either brave or stupid in my book."

"Or I could be crazy," he suggests, amusement coloring his voice.

"The thought had crossed my mind," she mutters into her tea cup. "So now what?"

"After you are through with your breakfast, we'll start your self defense lessons for the day," he tells her, noticing the empty tea cup in front of her.

"Then we might as well get started," she states as she stands up and takes the cup to the sink, trying not to wince at the sore muscles. "I've been sittin' here for nearly half an hour waitin' for ya ta get out here."

"My apologies, I was unaware that you were waiting," he replies as he turns towards the training room.

"For someone who seems to have eyes on the back of his head, Ah find that hard to believe," she shoots back as she follows him.

"Contrary to your beliefs, I am not omnipotent," he tells her while they make their way down the corridor.

"Could have fooled meh," she grumbles under her breath and hidden under the mask, a smile appears.

* * *

"Your dinner is ready," he states as he steps into the art storage room but she doesn't even acknowledge his existence, she just continues to stare at the computer screen. "Is something the matter?"

"Ya mean other than the usual?" she asks sarcastically. "The boys say that Ruth and Tim have been fightin' again. The bills are startin' to pile up."

"That is most unfortunate," he replies as he starts to turn to leave. "Your dinner is getting cold."

"Ta hell with my dinner," she snarls as she launches herself out of her seat and goes to stand in front of him. "Ya created this mess, V, and you better figure a way out of it."

"And what would you suggest I do?" he asks, still surprised by this woman who's gone from meek mouse to terrible tiger.

"Ah don't know, but ya better think of somethin'," she snaps as she pokes him in the chest with a finger as she speaks.

"I will thank you not to poke me," he nearly growls as he grabs her hand in a painful grip.

"Then do somethin' to help them," she insists, refusing to flinch as he continues to squeeze her hand. "If ya hadn't killed Michael, none of this would have happened."

"If you had simply remembered your handbag for a change or had not come back for it for at least another five minutes, then you wouldn't be here," he points out. "You'd be living off of Jones' pension and you would still be pretending to be the mother of the twins."

That stops her dead in her tracks and he can see the fight go out of her like deflating balloon.

"Oh god, it's all my fault," she whispers.

"Not entirely," he consoles as he releases her hand and then steers her towards the kitchen. "Go eat your dinner. I will think of some way for their financial burdens to be lessened."

She dejectedly heads for the kitchen and finds her dinner waiting for her. When he joins her a few minutes later, he discovers that all she's done is pushing the food around on the plate, but hasn't eaten any of it. He sits across from her and puts a small wooden box on the table between them, the black lacquer finish with the mother-of-pearl inlay softly glowing in the kitchen light.

"What are you doin' with my jewelry box?" she asks, surprised to see it sitting there.

"I find it interesting that you would take all of your jewelry with you when you were only going to be gone a couple of days," he says.

"I found out the hard way that things tend to disappear out of that box when I'm gone for a couple of days," she replies. "A good bit of the jewelry belonged to Georgia and Ruth's mother. After Ah figured out that Michael was takin' it, Ah started takin' the box with me. I tried givin' some of the pieces to Ruth since they're rightfully hers, but Michael found out and went over to her place and demanded them back."

"Is all of the jewelry in here from Ruth and Georgia's mum?" he asks.

"No, there are some pieces in there from Michael to Georgia, they're pretty expensive too since he wanted people to see that he treated his wife well," she answers.

"Would you be willing to give the box and its contents to Ruth now?" he inquires.

She looks at him in surprise for a moment and then reaches up and starts to take all of her jewelry off. When she reaches for the diamond engagement ring and wedding band on her left hand, he stops her.

"The jewelry in the box and what you've taken off should be enough to support them for a while," he tells her. "The ring looks to be custom made."

"It is," she replies. "Michael had it made for Georgia to prove his 'love' for her."

"Hold onto it for now," he instructs as he collects the other pieces of jewelry on the table. "I think it will come in handy later on."

"What are you goin' to do with them?" she questions.

"I will make sure that she gets everything," he assures her.

"Thank you," she says as she picks up her fork and stabs a piece of food with it.

"You're welcome, Audrey," he replies as he stands and leaves her to eat in peace.

* * *

Ruth sits at her desk staring at her computer screen trying not to lose her temper or her sanity. Between the bills piling up, her boss chewing her out for someone else's mistake, the fights with Tim and the twins trying to eat everything in sight, she's surprised she's managed to keep it together for as long as she has. She briefly glances at the clock and sighs, know that soon she'll have to go from one this war zone to the one at home. She starts trying to get some work done again when her phone rings.

"Of course," she quietly grumbles as she picks up the handset. "This is Ruth Thompson."

"Ruth, it's Betty from the front desk," Betty says. "There's a package here for you."

"Sign for it please," Ruth requests. "I'll pick it up on the way out."

"I tried to, but the guy won't let anyone but you sign for it," Betty tells her.

"Fine, I'll be there in a minute," Ruth sighs before hanging the phone up.

A couple of minutes later, Ruth emerges from a lift behind the receptionist's desk and sees a man in a BFC uniform waiting nearby. When Betty spots her, the receptionist nods her head towards the man and Ruth acknowledges with a nod of her own. She steps up to the man and looks up at him, idly noticing that he hasn't taken his sunglasses off even though he's indoors.

"Ruth Thompson?" the tall man asks.

"Yes, that's me," she replies.

"Thumb print please," he requests as he holds out the small scanner and she obediently puts her thumb on it. "Here you go."

"Thank you," she replies as he hands her the package.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," he says as he touches the bill of his cap and then turns to go.

"So, who's it from?" Betty asks.

"It doesn't say," Ruth answers as she examines the package. "That's odd, I thought it was required that there be a return address for something to be sent through the BFC."

"That is odd," Betty replies as she leans forward. "Well, open it up."

"Being a bit nosey, aren't we?" Ruth laughs.

"Well, yeah," Betty snorts. "It's the least you can do since I had to baby sit the guy until you got down here."

"And I bet that was a real bit of torture for you too," Ruth teases.

"Ok, so he had a great looking arse, but still, there was something about that guy that was a bit creepy," Betty replies.

"Yeah," Ruth agrees. "Probably because he didn't take off his sunglasses."

"Ok, now that we've agreed the guy was creepy, open up already," Betty insists, eagerly staring at the box.

"Fine," Ruth laughs again as she opens the box and finds another box inside with a note attached. "'Open when you're alone.'"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Betty demands.

"It means you're not going to see what's in the box," Ruth tells her as she closes the outer box and heads for the lifts.

"That's not fair," Betty whines.

"Life seldom is," Ruth replies a bit sadly before stepping into the waiting lift.

* * *

Several hours and one too many arguments later, Ruth retires to her bedroom for the night, exhausted physically, mentally and spiritually. The package that she received hours ago sits peacefully on her bed and it takes her a few moments to remember that it's hers. She wearily pulls the second box out of the bigger one, not caring that the Styrofoam peanuts it's packed in fall onto her bed and the floor.

She shakes the box, but doesn't hear anything rattling inside and it doesn't weigh very much. She pulls the note off and tosses it to the side before using her thumb nail to break open the tape. Once she gets the tape taken care of, she opens the flaps and a sea of more packaging peanuts faces her.

She cautiously sticks her hand inside and digs around until her hand hits something solid. She carefully pulls it out, not caring that she's making a bigger mess as more peanuts flow over the sides of the box and onto the bed. Once the object is out and she gets a good look at it, she instantly recognizes it.

With trembling hands and a rapidly beating heart, she carefully places the jewelry box on the bed and opens it. Inside there's a thin layer of cotton, but once that's removed she finds pieces of tissue paper wrapped around many small objects. She feels the tears forming in her eyes and she pays them no mind as she unwraps the first item and reveals her mother's favorite broach.

She lets out a strangled sob and quickly goes about unwrapping the rest of the treasures in the box. Tim comes in a minute later, sees her sitting on the bed totally concentrating on something and then he sees the Styrofoam peanuts on the bed and floor. Before he can admonish her for creating such a mess, he sees her with tears freely flowing down her face and a smile on her lips.

"What's this about?" he asks and she looks up at him and lets out a happy sob.

"It's me mum's jewels," she tells him as she holds up a necklace. "_She_ somehow sent me them."

"Are they all there?" he questions as he eagerly comes over to see the various pieces of jewelry spread out on the bed.

"I don't know," she replies. "I haven't finished unwrapping them yet."

"Do you want some help?" he inquires nervously.

"I'd like to do it myself," she responds after thinking about it for several seconds. "But could you just be here? I don't expect you to clean up the mess or anything, but just sit here with me."

"Yeah, I can do it that," he tells her and then after clearing a spot for himself, he sits down next to her on the bed and starts to rub her back to comfort her.

She goes back to carefully revealing each piece of carefully packed jewelry and when she's a little more than half way through she gets another surprise.

"Oh, my god," she gasps.

"What is it?" he asks, leaning over to get a better look.

"_Her_ jewelry's in here too," she whispers, barely believing what she's seeing.

"Is there more?" he questions excitedly.

"Let me see," she replies as she hastily starts open the rest.

A few minutes later and the bed sparkles with gold and precious stones in the lamp light. The couple stares in wonder at the treasure before them, both of them stunned at their sudden good fortune. She gently touches one of the pieces and then she carefully separates the jewelry into two piles.

"There are a couple of mum's pieces missing," she states. "It looks like all of _Her_ pieces are here except the engagement ring and wedding band."

"Is there any more in the box?" he inquires.

"I don't think so," she answers as she picks up the box and holds it up to the light to see the bottom. "Wait, there's something more in here. It looks like a piece of paper."

She pulls the paper out and opens it up.

"It's a note," she says. "It's from _Her_."

He looks over her shoulder and reads along with her.

* * *

_My dear Ruth,_

_I know there are no words I can write that will ease the suffering you've been through, but I thought that maybe giving you what should have been rightfully yours to begin with would at least ease your financial burden. There are pieces missing and I wouldn't be surprised if they were the ones your mum gave Georgia. Michael took those years ago and I don't know what he did with them. He more than likely sold them I'm afraid and I'm sorry if that is the case. I think you know what to do with Georgia's jewelry and I've enclosed the address of a man who will give you a good price for them. _

_Please don't tell the twins about this and I suggest you hide this box and its contents from them. It would be too hard to explain why the man I'm staying with let me send these to you but won't let me come home to them. Unfortunately, that will never be. Soon they will be legally yours, but please don't ask me how I know this. Just know that the next few months are going to be very confusing for everyone and very taxing on the boys. Love them as I no longer can and maybe someday I'll be able to tell you the whole truth._

_Until then, take care,_

_A.M._

* * *

"A.M.?" he questions. "What's A.M. mean?"

"I have a feeling those are her initials," she replies as she picks up a scrap of paper on the very bottom of the jewelry box that has an address scribbled on it. "I'll take the diamond earrings and the matching necklace to this guy tomorrow. It's probably best to only sell this stuff a little bit at a time. We don't want the Finger's attention on us."

"Especially now that we don't have that bastard's protection," he grumbles. "Let's get this stuff cleaned up and get to bed. At least I'll sleep better knowin' that we'll be able to start paying our bills again."

"So will I," she agrees as she starts to carefully put the jewelry away. "So will I."

* * *

The next day as Audrey is working in the art storage room after another multi hour work out when a new email message arrives. She instantly recognizes Ruth's email address and opens the message.

_Thank you_, are the only two words in the message.

_You're welcome_, Audrey emails back and it feels as if a large weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Hey, what do you know, my muse is finally being cooperative about continuing with most of my stories. I know this chapter is a bit short and there isn't a lot of V goodness in it, but I felt it was important to put this in here. I promise that the next chapter there will be lots of V and plenty of action to boot. As always, please leave a review. 


	21. Espressione

She's roughly shaken awake and instinctively she whips an arm around to hit her attacker. The flying fist is easily caught in a black leather clad hand and she opens an eye to glare at him. She's beyond sick of his early morning wake up calls and she's tempted to sleep with a frying pan just to see if just for once she can land a hit on him.

"Come, there's work to be done," he instructs as she yanks back her fist and then throws back the covers.

"What time is it?" she asks with a yawn and gives in to the need to stretch while he heads for the door.

"About two am," he answers, pausing at the threshold.

"TWO AM!" she yells, now fully awake as she suddenly sits upright. "For the love of everythin' holy, V, what in Sam hell are ya doin' wakin' me at this ungodly hour!? Even the roosters that wake the roosters aren't up yet!"

"As I said, there is work to be done," he reminds her.

"Couldn't it wait until a more decent hour?" she grumbles as she swings her legs over the side of the bed.

"No," he answers. "There's no telling when the police or Percy's men will return and we can't chance them finding you yet,"

"So we're workin' in the tunnels again," she grumbles. "Have Ah told ya how much Ah hate helping ya plant explosives?"

"Numerous times," he says. "But your hands and arms are smaller than mine and the places that the explosives need to be set in only your hands can reach into. Please, hurry."

"Then please get out so Ah can get dressed," she retorts irritably.

"As you wish," he replies with a bow and then leaves, closing the door behind him.

Knowing full well that he'll be pounding on the door in a few minutes, she grabs her clothes and then dashes into the bathroom to relieve herself since there are no loos in the tunnels. Once she's done with that, she strips out of her pajamas and slips on the form fitting black outfit he got her a couple of weeks ago when they first started planting the explosives . She looks at herself in the mirror after she's dressed and has to admit that the past three months of training have definitely had an effect. Before he started to teach her to fight, her clothing was starting to fit a bit too snugly on her and now they're much too loose.

While her body is in the best shape it's ever been in, her hair's a mess. Nearly nine years of dying her tresses brown has done some serious damage to the follicles. Her natural color is nearly three inches long now and the contrast between the two colors is very startling. She combs her fingers through her hair for a few moments wondering if just shaving it all off would help.

With a frustrated sigh, she balls up her hair on top of her head and pulls a black ski cap over it. She stuffs her feet into her boots, grabs her gloves and takes one last glance at herself in the full length mirror. It doesn't escape her notice that except for the lack of wig and mask, she could pass as a smaller, female version of V. With a snort of disgust, she heads for the door, opening it just as V is about to bang on the thing. He gives her a brief once over, a quick nod of approval, hands her a sandwich, then turns on his heel and walks off.

"How much longer before this is over?" she asks as she follows behind him to the exit out of the Shadow Gallery before taking a quick bite of her food.

"I believe another week should do," he replies as he gently lifts a satchel and hangs it over his shoulder before opening the door. "Georgia Jones needs to put in one more appearance to draw our quarry into the trap."

"Now ya're sure that none of the policemen are gonna get hurt, right?" she questions. "Inspector Finch and Detective Stone have been very kind to the boys and Ah'd hate for anythin' bad to happen to them."

"If they play their parts right, they will not be hurt by me," he assures her as he closes and locks the door behind them.

"So, once Percy's dead, Shire Stables will close," she states with a bit of relief.

"Actually, no," he tells her while he starts to lead her through a series of corridors that will eventually take them out to the old tube system.

"Then what the bloody hell are we doin' this for?" she demands.

"What we are doing is seeing to your safety," he answers. "Once Percy and his men are dealt with, getting you out of London shouldn't be as hard."

"Ah don't want to leave London," she quietly growls.

"So you've stated repeatedly for the past three months," he casually replies. "I'm afraid your staying is not an option. You stated you wanted the sun again and this is the only way you will get it without endangering your life or the lives of those you supposedly care about. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she hisses unhappily.

"Good," he nods his approval as he enters the code to the last door before they enter the tunnels.

A moment later they're in the tubes and all talking stops for fear of someone being down here and hearing them. She follows him as silently as she can, but try as she might, it sounds like she's wearing tap shoes compared to his stealthy walk. She finishes her sandwich as they make their way through the twists and turns of the tunnels and it doesn't seem to matter how often he takes her through these things, she always gets turned around.

By the time she's convinced that even he's lost, they get to the place he intends to set the explosives. He carefully sets his hat down on some nearby rubble and then gets down on one knee. She doesn't bother asking what he's doing as she steps up to him, swings her leg over his back and takes a seat on his shoulders.

He smoothly rises to his feet as if she weighs nothing, holding onto her legs to help keep her steady. He hands her the first explosive which she gingerly takes and then he points to the crack he wishes for her to place it in using a pen light. Trying to keep her hands from shaking too hard, she carefully plants the small incendiary device into the wall where he wants it.

* * *

More than an hour later, the bag is empty and he carefully lowers himself down so that she may dismount. The work is always nerve wracking for her and by the time they're done she just wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a couple of days. But, as he pointed out the one time she told him this, there's no rest for the wicked and so back to the Shadow Gallery they must go. 

Between the lack of sleep, the long hike out to the site where they planted the explosives and then spending an hour planting those devices, she's exhausted and just follows along in his wake. She's barely aware of anything around her and is depending on him to get them home safely. It's not until she runs into his back does she realize that he's even stopped walking.

He looks down at her and she looks up at him in confusion. It's not until the handle of one of his knives is pressed into his hands does she realize that something is amiss. Her heart starts pounding as she quickly looks for a place to hide herself and keep out of his way. He disappears into the darkness and she knows there's no point in trying to find him.

A few moments later, she hears footsteps and the voices of men coming down the tunnel. She crouches down in her hiding spot and pulls her cap down as far as it will go to try and cover as much exposed skin as possible. She stays in her crouched down position trying to ignore her cramping muscles as the sound of several men slowly move closer, the light from their torches dancing over the walls as they go.

"Ya really think we're gonna find her down here, boss?" one of the men asks, the sound echoing down the tunnel.

"Finch believes she's down here and if she is, I'll find her," a second man replies irritably. "If I can just show up Finch, he'll have egg on his face and he'll be looking at early retirement, leaving the way clear for me to take over."

"What happens if Finch does find the Jones woman first?" a third man questions, their voices now sounding very close to her position.

"Well, accidents do happen," the second man answers with an evil chuckle. "Bein' a policeman is dangerous work. Never know when a stray bullet's gonna find ya."

The others snicker at their boss's little quip and a shiver runs down her spine.

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him…,"_ a rich, velvety voice starts to croon out of the darkness.

"What the bloody hell is that?" the first man asks nervously.

"…_and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore," _V continues, still hidden, his voice echoing off of the walls.

"Alright, show yourself!" the boss demands loudly making Audrey wince since they're standing very close to her hiding spot.

"_But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…," _V purrs, as he steps out of the shadows where she can see him, his blades gleaming in the light cast by the policemen's torches.

"Holy shit!" yells yet a fourth man and she can hear guns being cocked.

"…_disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution,"_ V continues, twirling a couple of blades for effect.

"Drop the weapons buddy and you might walk away from this," boss man orders.

"_Like valour's minion, carved out his passage…"_ V replies, enjoying playing with these fools.

"Alright, you were warned, buster," boss man growls. "Open fi…"

A wet 'thunk' cuts off the man's words and a second later she hears a body hitting the floor. Since she knows that the men's attention will now be completely on V, she chances a peek out of her hiding spot. What she sees leaves her nearly speechless as V moves as gracefully as any dancer on a stage while he disposes of the policemen.

The four remaining men raise their guns to take aim and V runs between them as they open fire. Two of the men go down, the one closer to her is holding his stomach and groaning in pain while the other one stares off into space sightlessly, blood flowing out of the hole just below his eye. She fights the urge to vomit as V grabs the third man, slashing his throat and then throwing the lifeless body at the final man.

The last man standing catches his fallen comrade and then drops him, trying to bring his gun up in time to defend himself. But it's too late; V is upon him and sliding a razor sharp blade into the man's heart, coming nose to nose with the man in the process. The man stares at V in surprise for a few moments before his eyes glaze over and he slides off of the bloody knife.

Audrey has her hand over her mouth, trying to keep her sandwich in her stomach when she catches a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye. The man shot in the gut has picked up his gun again and is shakily aiming it at V's back as the vigilante goes about collecting his knives and cleaning the blood off of them. Without thinking about it, she takes the tip of the blade between her fingers, raises her arm over her head just like she's seen V do and lets the dagger fly.

"Ouch!" he man yells when the handle of the knife hits him in the head.

V spins around and in one deft move, ends the man's life by slicing the policeman's throat open. V cleans off the blade again, picks up the one he had given Audrey and slides them back into his belt. He surveys the carnage thoughtfully, quickly planning on what to do with the bodies and ignores the sound of retching not too far away while he retrieves his satchel.

"Are you finished?" he asks when the sounds of her being sick finally stops.

"Ah think Ah threw up my toenails," she jokes weakly as he comes over to her. "Are we almost home?"

"We have a ways to go yet," he tells her as he helps her to her feet. "But we need to leave now, in case anyone heard our little disagreement."

She nods her understanding and quietly follows him past the bodies, trying not to look at the bloody corpses but needing to see where it's safe to step. Fortunately, they get past them quickly and they're soon on their way back to the Shadow Gallery. When she falls behind, he grabs a wrist and drags her along and she's so tired, she doesn't object to her handling.

By the time she staggers through the final door into the Gallery, she doesn't care if he has plans for her or not, she just wants a hot bath and her bed. She stumbles off and he silently watches her as she disappears through one of the many doorways. A short time later, he hears the water running and he nods his approval. He returns the small bag that carried the explosives earlier and stores it in its proper place before heading back out.

* * *

She's not sure how long she's been asleep, but she does know she's hungry enough to eat a horse. She has a good stretch and then climbs out of bed in search of some regular clothes. Once she's dressed, she heads for the kitchen, half expecting V to be there and is a bit surprised to not only find the room empty, but no food waiting for her on the table or in the oven. 

She goes to make herself something to eat and as she's putting away the fixings for her sandwich, V comes in through the door that leads to the tunnels. He slowly and carefully makes his way through the Gallery towards his own room as she watches. She's never seen him look, for lack of a better word, tired. She wasn't even aware he could get worn out.

"V, are ya alright?" she asks.

"Yes, Audrey, I'm quite well, thank you," he replies as he slowly takes another step.

"Ya look a bit, I don't know, tuckered out," she observes, still a bit concerned. "Where ya been?"

"After I saw you safely back here, I returned to the tunnels to dispose of the bodies," he tells her, carefully placing a hand on a nearby wall and trying not to make it look like he's holding himself up by it. "Then there was the matter of cleaning up the blood so it wasn't so obvious where the bodies came from.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon," she replies as she puts down the butter knife she had been holding into the sink. "Where did ya take 'em?"

"Oh, not far, but far enough away that they won't be linked to you or me," he answers.

"So what took ya so long?" she questions.

"The Nose and Percy's men have returned to the tubes a lot sooner than I anticipated and I have spent a good deal of time avoiding them," he states. "There are more men down here than I had expected. It seems a reward has been put up for the return of Georgia Jones."

"Nice to know Ah'm worth somethin'," she mutters to herself.

"Not you, Audrey, Georgia," he corrects and is given a glare in response.

"In that case, Ah wish 'em all the luck in the world findin' that woman," she snarls as she turns her attention to the sandwich she's just made and lets out a defeated sigh. "Have ya eaten?"

"Excuse me?" he asks, a bit perplexed by the sudden subject change.

"It's not a very complicated question, V," she replies irritably. "Have ya eaten?"

"No, I have not," he answers and she puts the completed sandwich on a plate and brings it to him.

"Here, ya can have this," she says as she offers him the plate.

"Thank you," he says as he carefully takes the plate. "Are you not hungry?"

"Not any more," she replies quietly as she walks off and disappears down one of the corridors.

As tired as he is, he knows he won't be getting any sleep unless he finds out why she's upset this time. He can already envision himself lying in his bed, trying to figure out what he said this time to set her off, analyzing the conversation over and over in his mind. So with plate still in hand, he follows her into the training room.

He watches in fascination as she wraps tape around her knuckles and then proceeds to start taking her aggression out on the punching bag. She punches it, she kicks it and she beats the bloody hell out of it until she sinks to her knees in exhaustion more than half an hour later. She takes a deep breath and lets out a gut wrenching sob as she curls up into a ball on the floor.

He returns to the kitchen, puts the sandwich in the icebox and then goes in search of a box of tissues. By the time he returns, she's down to hiccupping little sobs, the matt and the side of her face quite wet from her tears. He kneels down beside her and puts the box of tissues where she can see it, but her eyes are squeezed shut.

"Audrey," he calls softly and the crying intensifies.

She curls up into an even tighter ball, bringing her bloody fists up to cover her face as the sobs wrack her body. He takes off his cloak and spreads it over her like a blanket, knowing that lying on the floor like this will chill the muscles. He's been through these bouts of depression before and takes a seat on the floor next to her, slipping into a light trance to wait out the storm of emotions.

He's roused from his meditation by the sound of movement and he opens his eyes to see her trying to pull herself up to her feet using one of the pieces of equipment nearly half way across the room. Smoothly and silently he rises to his feet, scoops his cloak up off of the floor and walks over to her. He holds his hand out to her and she looks at it for a few moments before deciding to take it and let him help her to her feet.

When she doesn't immediately let go, he knows that it's her silent request for help and he assists her into the kitchen. After helping her take a seat at the table, he gets out the sandwich she had made earlier and places it before her. She doesn't question, but starts to slowly eat as he moves about the room pulling items out of cupboards and getting water from the tap.

It's not until he sticks one of her hands in a bowl of warm water does she even notice what he's up to. She looks at her appendage for a few moments and then goes back to eating her food, not sure what he's up to, but not too concerned. Just as she's almost done her sandwich, the water finally soaks through the dried blood on her hand and she hisses in pain. She goes to pull her hand out only to have him stop her.

"Let it soak," he orders. "Otherwise I'll be pulling the scab off with the tape."

"It stings," she hisses.

"That would be the Epsom salts," he informs her. "It will help heal the wounds, but you must let it do its job."

She nods her understanding and finishes eating, quietly placing her other hand in a second bowl of warm water and Epsom salt when it appears in front of her. She placidly watches him tend her first hand after he's felt it has soaked long enough. He cuts away the tape, carefully pulls it off of her battered knuckles, causing her to wince and then bandages the hand. He repeats the process with the second hand and then cleans up the mess as she just sits there and waits.

"What was it this time?" he asks while he puts away the first aide kit.

"What purpose do Ah fill?" she whispers nearly a minute later. "Those who want meh, can't have meh and those who don't want meh, are going to be stuck with meh. Ah'm useless."

"You are not useless," he firmly tells her. "However, your worth cannot be recognized here."

"But what do Ah have to look forward to there?" she asks, staring sightlessly at the table top. "There's no one waitin' for me back in the States. All my family is dead."

"Your grandmother…," he starts.

"Is probably dead too," she interrupts. "Ah was all she had left. It probably killed her when she realized that Ah was never comin' home. She said she had a big surprise for me when Ah got home that day. Ah wonder how late she stayed up worrying about me, wonderin' where Ah was."

"You will be free and you can start a new life," he tells her as he takes the seat next to her. "Nothing says you have to return to the States once you return to North America, but you can't stay here."

"Ah know," she replies, her shoulders sagging even more in defeat. "But what can Ah do once Ah get there? It's not like they're gonna hand me a bunch of money and say, 'Here, go start a new life.'"

"You will always have your music, Audrey," he points out. "With that, you can build your new life."

"You cannot hold a song or kiss it, V," she counters. "As The Beatles said, 'Money can't buy me love'."

"_If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die_," he quotes. "While I cannot guarantee that you will find love in your new life, you will at least be free to try."

"Haven't you ever loved anyone in your life?" she asks.

"Not that I remember," he answers quietly.

"What a lonely life ya've lived," she says sadly.

"_All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players_," he replies with another quote.

"It may be, but what a lonely stage to play on if there is no one on the stage but you and the props and no audience," she responds.

"I am no longer capable of love," he softly states.

"For your sake, V, Ah certainly hope ya're wrong," she tells him as she stands. "Ah haven't done any catalogin' today. Think Ah'll work on that for a bit. Ya should get somethin' in ya before ya fall down."

"I am capable of taking care of myself, Audrey," he points out, rising to his feet as well.

"What can Ah say?" she replies with a shrug as she leaves. "Once a mother, always a mother."

Before he can think of anything to say, she is gone and he just lets out a puff of frustrated air.

* * *

_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him_…_and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore, __But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…__disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution, __Like valour's minion, carved out his passage… - _Macbeth

_If music be the food of love, play on;  
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,  
The appetite may sicken, and so die_ – Twelfth Night

_All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players_ – As You Like It


	22. Allegro

**Author's Notes**: I'm really sorry about the wait. Life, writers block and a stubborn muse have conspired to keep me from updating. On the plus side, I've finished one of the four stories I was writing, so hopefully things will move along a bit better now. As always, please enjoy and review.

* * *

"Are you ready?" he asks as he pauses before opening the final door between the Shadow Gallery and the tunnels. 

"Do Ah have a choice?" she sarcastically shoots back, trying to keep from tugging at her itching wig.

"No, I'm afraid you don't," he answers, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at her, the Guy Fawkes mask hiding any expression he may have. "Play your part right and you will be a free woman tonight."

"But what price freedom?" she quietly asks, the sting of tears causing her eyes to burn.

"This is the only way, Audrey," he quietly tells her.

"My head believes ya, it's my heart that isn't so sure," she replies with a sigh. "We might as well get this over with, no point in standin' here all day."

"True," he agrees with a nod before he turns and unlocks that final door.

She follows him as silently as she can, concentrating on where she's stepping and not where they're going. She pays attention to nothing else but him and where she's putting her feet, avoiding loose stones and pebbles as much as possible. It still boggles her mind how a man as big as he is can move as silently as a cat and she silently prays that her bumbling attempt to follow in his foot steps doesn't give their position away to the two groups of searchers that are out there somewhere.

A short eternity later they reach their parting point, both stopping side by side to stare at the stairs that will lead her to outside world. He knows that now is the moment of truth, but he has lived with this woman for close to four months now and he knows her nearly as well as he knows himself. If she chooses, she could make a break for it and find her way back to her fake family. But she knows it would be only a matter of time before the men from Shire Stables came looking for her and she has no doubt that they would harm or even kill the twins to get to her, possibly even taking them to be slaves as well. He made sure to drill that little message into her head these past few weeks.

He puts a black gloved hand on her shoulder and she rests one of hers on top of it while he looks down at her, though she doesn't look back him. Instead she takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, gently squeezes his hand, squares her shoulders and then walks away from him with slow, steady steps. He watches her go until she disappears from view and then waits until the sounds of her steps fades away.

As soon as he's sure she's gone, he moves into the hiding spot that he will occupy until her return. It's not a spacious hole in the wall, but it's big enough for him and her and a small monitor that he connected to several nearby surveillance cameras for him to watch her progress. After flipping through several of the different camera views, he spots her in the park across from Percy's favorite pub, pretending to be warming up to do an evening jog around the park when in fact she is simply waiting for the scoundrel and his men to put in appearance so that she can lure him to his doom.

* * *

She can feel her heart pounding against her ribs, hear her blood rushing past her ears and all the while she stands there waiting for the hunter to come out and chase the scared rabbit. But she knows that rabbits have very sharp teeth and a wicked kick when cornered and she hopes she doesn't freeze up at the mere sight of the man who came to the chalet in Switzerland to check on her makeover progress every few weeks all those years ago. Just the thought of those times makes her breath catch in her throat and then she hears V's voice in her head as surely as if he is standing beside her.

_Take your weakness and make it your strength,_ the voice says to her. _Even the most frightened animal will become the fiercest fighter when cornered. Take your fear and turn it against your enemy and then you will be the hunter and he the hunted. _

She takes a deep breath and wishes the miserable bastard would just hurry it up so she can get this over with. She briefly looks up from stretching her hamstrings and sees a Bobby looking at her curiously. She quickly looks back down and silently prays that he just moves on, that he doesn't stop or worse yet, come closer to get a better look.

_Move along; move along,_ she silently chants to the policeman. _Ah'm not the woman ya're looking for. _

She nearly giggles with the absurdity of the thought and really wishes she had the ability to alter a man's thoughts like Ben Kenobi from that old sci-fi movie V showed her a few weeks ago. It certainly would have saved everyone a lot of pain and aggravation if she could and she wouldn't be in this mess.

_And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride,_ she quietly reminds herself.

She chances a sly glance towards the officer and with a sigh of relief sees that he has moved on. She knows she can't fake warming up much longer and with a cop hanging about, things could take an ugly turn. With one last shaking out of her muscles, she starts doing a light jog around the small park, avoiding people straggling home after getting off of work late or heading for the pub that she's trying to keep an eye on for pint or two before curfew forces them to seek the relative safety of home.

As she completes the second circuit of the park, she begins to worry that maybe they're not in there and that V is mistaken. She knows she's strong enough to go around this park several more times, but she needs to be fresh enough to lead them to the tunnels and stay ahead of them long enough to get to safety. She wonders how many more times she should jog around this tiny park before calling it quits and heading back to V.

Just as she contemplates returning to the old access entrance that she came through, she sees them emerge from the pub. She can feel her heart skip a beat and the muscles around her chest constrict making it hard to breathe for a moment. Then all the long hard hours of training kick in and she picks up the pace a bit so that she can get a better view of them and them of her.

She quickly sizes up the men and she doesn't like what she sees. There are nearly a dozen of them with Percy in the middle of the pack and those closest to him look like walking mountains of muscle. Intent on something their boss is saying all eyes are on Percy and none of them notice her, making things even harder for her.

The plan had been for them to see her from a distance and for them to chase her as she lead them away from the safe streets and into the dangers that await them below ground. Of course the plan had also called for only about half a dozen men, not nearly a dozen…correction a full dozen she realizes as on of the bigger men moves out of the way to reveal a much smaller man behind him. In the quickly gathering gloom there's no way for them to identify her from this distance either and to add to her problems, they're headed the wrong way.

She quickly rewrites V's carefully laid plans and makes her own as she doubles back the way she's come. She carefully crosses so as not to get hit by a car and then jogs up behind them as quietly as she can. She can hear Percy giving a detailed account to his men what he's going to do to her once he's got her and her blood runs cold. The old fears and training start to strangle her heart, making it hard for her to think or breath.

Then a fiery anger and a hate as she's never felt before burns in her belly and she can feel her blood starting to boil, bringing with it a clarity of thought like she's never known before. She speeds up, brushing past the men, timing it perfectly to hit one of the smaller men with her hip and knocking him off balance enough to stumble into a few of his compatriots. He sputters indignantly for a moment as he regains his footing and then he glares at the woman slowly jogging away from them.

"Oy!" the man yells after her. "Watch where ya goin', ya stupid bint!"

She waits until she's about to go under a street lamp, turns around enough to look back at them, only slowing enough to stare right at Percy with her piercing green eyes, the bright red hair of her wig very noticeable and she flips him a two finger salute before turning and taking off at a dead run.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Percy gasps, stopping dead in his tracks for a moment. "It's her! GET HER!"

His men stare at him in confusion for a moment until they see him starting to run after the woman who flipped him off. They don't ask questions, but follow Percy's lead and give chase to the woman who quickly disappears around a corner. Each one of them wants to have the honor of catching the woman they have been hunting for over three months, so they fight and jostle each other, trying to get into the lead and only succeeding in getting in each other's way.

She thanks all the stars in the heavens that she and V went over this area in disguise until she knew it like the back of her hand. Even in the near dark she knows where she is and where she's going and she's actually find a bit of delight in the chase. She almost wants to laugh as she can hear them pushing, shoving and cursing at each other to get to her.

She knows normally she wouldn't stand a chance against one of these men, but she had surprise on her size plus V knew that they would be just about killing each other to get to her. She also knows the back allies better than they do as she leads them on a merry chase, taking them farther and father away from busy streets. The ones in the lead of the pack laugh when they see she's lead them to a dead end, but the laughter dies in their throats as she quickly disappears behind a partially opened grate that's mostly hidden by old boxes of rubbish.

There's a roar of anger from the lot of them as they charge the spot she slipped through and she can hear them as they shove the boxes out of the way. A moment later and the sound of the grating being ripped out of the wall reaches her and she runs down the tunnel knowing that they'll follow like moths to a flame. She glances behind her and she can see the light of their torches sweeping the area, trying to find her.

She's glad that V made her learn this entrance inside and out and to run it in the dark. She had thought he was a sick bastard when he made her go up and down the corridors and stairs with a blindfold on, but now she's happy that he did. There's virtually no light down here and she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would probably fall and break her neck if he hadn't.

She turns back to her task to draw them in deeper and lets out a sharp whistle to entice them farther in when she hears them hesitate. There's renewed yelling and pounding of feet as they take up the chase once more like hounds on a hunt, baying and howling for blood. She takes some grim satisfaction in knowing that it's not her blood that will be spilled this night.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs and runs full out, keeping one hand on the wall beside her so she doesn't miss her turn. She can see the torch light on the walls around her as she reaches the corner and goes around it, barely slowing down to do so. She reaches her arms over her head and a second later she feels leather clad fingers grab hold of her wrist and yank her off of her feet.

She allows him to use her momentum to swing her into the safety of their hiding spot, well above where she could have ever reached without at least a step stool to help her. She curls up into a ball to make herself as small as possible and tries to get her breathing under control while V covers her with his cloak and then shields her with his body as her pursuers pass beneath their hiding spot. As soon as they're gone, he backs off and she sits up, drawing in great gulps of air while she tries to get her body to calm down.

She tries to listen carefully past her gasping breath and pounding heart for the sound of the explosives going off. She knows they're not big, but there are enough of them to cause a chain reaction. Just as she's sure that they're not going to go off, she can feel the vibrations through the wall followed by the rumble of collapsing tunnel. A few seconds later and a cloud of dust comes billowing down the corridor carrying with it the smell of masonry dust and a slight smell of the explosives used to get the tunnel to collapse.

She leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes while he fiddles with the monitor, switching it to show the cameras inside the tunnels now. She draws her knees to her chest to allow him room to move in the confining space while she concentrates on getting her breath and heart rate under control, ignoring the smell of him and heat radiating from his body. At one time she may have been interested in proving him wrong about his inability to love, but now he's nothing more than an ends to a means and after tonight, she will be glad to be rid of his company.

The walls shake again, but less violently than before and a few seconds later the sounds of a tunnel collapsing reaches them. V softly chuckles to himself and she glares at him, knowing that for some sick reason he finds glee in the death of these men. She knows that they're not good men, but it still makes her ill to think that she's largely responsible for their deaths.

They wait in that dark hole in silence, the only light coming from the tiny monitor that V's using. It takes several more minutes before she can feel the final set of explosives going off through the vibrations in the wall and the distant echo of the collapsing tunnel is very faint. She lets out a breath she wasn't aware that she had been holding and starts to edge towards the entrance to their hiding place.

He grabs her arm and she can see him shake his head in the dim light, so with a frustrated sigh, she leans back and waits. She watches him as he switches the monitor from one camera to the next, carefully examining each scene as if looking for something. After several long minutes of this, he finally turns off the monitor and she can feel him slipping past her towards the exit.

She waits until she's sure he's out and then feels her way to the exit. As she's lowering herself down, a pair of hands grab her around the waist and she nearly screams in surprise, but years of beatings taken in silence means she only takes a startled deep breath. It takes her only a moment to realize that it's just V helping her down and a moment later she's gently set on her feet.

As soon as she's firmly on her feet, he releases her and starts to move away. She follows as quietly as she can, ever mindful that with the sun gone that it's even harder to move silently now, though he does it with ease. It doesn't take them long to reach the area of the cave in and what they find nearly brings her to her knees.

The dust hanging in the air makes her sneeze and her eyes water and she's glad that she's not wearing those blasted contacts yet. The smell of blood tinges the air and she can feel her stomach start to rebel, but it's the sound of men moaning in pain that makes her stagger. She leans heavily against the wall and for the first time since he started taking her out of the Shadow Gallery, she doesn't care how much noise she makes as she stumbles along behind him.

He stops and turns towards her, hearing her convulsively swallow several times before he halts her forward motion. He signals her to stay put and she hesitantly agrees, though it's hard with the sound of men in obvious pain. She rests her head against the wall and watches V as he carefully makes his way through the rubble.

He carefully checks to see which of the half buried men are moaning and then upon locating one, he picks up a large piece of rubble just before he soundly smashes it into the man's skull. He half turns at the sound of her gasp, expecting her to complain or protest his actions, but no more sounds are forthcoming from her, so he continues. He makes his way through the mess of concrete, wiring, piping and broken bodies and he makes short work of the men caught in his trap.

By the time he returns to her, she's sitting on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest, her hands over her ears, her head on her knees and she's rocking back and forth, quietly humming to herself. He touches her on the shoulder causing her to jump and she bites back a scream before it can pass her lips. She looks up at him and he can see even in the dark that she's been crying again. He pulls her to her feet and starts to head out only to be startled when she grabs hold of his arm in a death grip.

Knowing that their time is limited and that they've wasted enough time in the tunnels, he resigns himself to having her hang on to him. He starts walking at a brisk pace only to shortly realize that she's not paying attention to where she's going. He looks down at her and finds that her eyes are squeezed shut. With a puff of frustration he stops, forces her to let go and then picks her up, carrying her back to his home a lot faster than they would have gotten there had she walked.

He sets her down on her feet and she easily takes her own weight as he turns back to the task of opening the first door. She quietly follows him in, lost in her own thoughts, but completely aware of his displeasure in her if the stiffness of his back is anything to go on. She still says nothing when they finally get to the Gallery proper, but instead heads for her room.

"Was the sight of those men really that disturbing?" he asks. "They, after all, deserved their fate."

"Imaginin' what will happen and actually seein' it aren't always the same thang," she points out, stopping, but not bothering to turn around. "Ah helped ya kill them. That makes me a murderer."

_"The lady doth protest too much, methinks,"_ he muses with a tilt to his head. "They worked for Shire Stables. They are responsible with taking people like you and making them slaves."

"Ah'm not a cold and heartless killer like you are, V," she hisses, glaring over her shoulder at him. "Those men had families who will never see them again and I helped you send them to their deaths. Quotin' Shakespeare at me isn't gonna change that."

_"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so," _he replies.

_"This above all: to thine own self be true," _she shoots back at him. "The only reason Ah went along with this insane plan is because it's the only way Ah'll ever see the sun again. Don't think for one second Ah approved of any of it. Now if ya'll excuse meh, Ah need to go get ready."

"Yes, of course," he responds with a nod as she starts to walk away. "Georgia Jones' final curtain call will be a quiet affair, but will be the most important performance of all."

"Let's hope the Inspector plays his part as well," she replies, pausing before disappearing down the hallway that leads to her room. "Otherwise, we're stuck with each other for the rest of whatever."

"Perish the thought," he mumbles under his breath after she disappears around the corner.

* * *

All quotes are from **Hamlet **by William Shakespeare. 


	23. Interval

She's ready to go in less than an hour and when she steps out of her room, the smell of food wafts past her nose. She inhales deeply; suddenly realizing how hungry she is and is surprised that she has an appetite at all. She follows her nose to the kitchen and finds him wearing her apron again which makes her smile as she shakes her head.

"Ah, good, you're ready," he says cheerfully when he sees her a second later. "Are you hungry?"

"Scarily enough, Ah am," she replies as she takes a seat at the table.

"And why would hunger pangs be frightening?" he asks while he places a plate with a shepherd's pie on it. "I did notice that you haven't eaten all day, so it does stand to reason that your body would finally demand food."

"It's not the hunger that's bothersome," she tells him as she picks up her fork. "It's the fact that Ah have any appetite at all after what we just did. Ah haven't eaten anythin' all day because every time Ah thought about what we were about to do made my stomach turn."

"Then perhaps, now that the _dirty_ work is done, your appetite has returned," he points out. "It's good that you do have the ability to eat now. While what you must do next will not be as physically taxing as your earlier exploit, you must have your wits about you and an empty stomach is not conducive to clear thinking."

"Ya really think this is gonna work?" she asks as she gets a fork full of food and starts to blow on it.

"I do," he answers as he leans against the stove.

"But what if…," she starts worriedly.

"Inspector Finch is an honorable man," he interrupts.

"But he's the head of the Nose," she points out.

"Yes, I know, it seems strange, but the Inspector is an honest cop," he replies.

"An honest cop," she echoes with a humorless laugh. "Who would think London had any of those left."

"Yes, it does seem to be a bit of an oxymoron doesn't it?" he says as he places more food on a second plate.

"Oxymoron, a word that contradicts itself, like jumbo shrimp," she pipes up.

"Very good," he responds, sounding very pleased that the tutoring he's been giving her these past few months have sunken in.

"Good to know somethin' managed to get through my thick head," she sighs.

"You are not a stupid woman," he states, raising a finger to stop her when he sees her mouth open to argue with him. "You have made some foolish choices, I will concede you that, but you are not stupid."

"But…," she starts.

"No more," he tells her sternly and her shoulders slump in defeat. "Now, how are things going with your cataloging?"

"Fine," she answers. "Ah'm almost done. Ah figure another week at most, unless ya bring in another truckload for meh and then it'll probably be at least two weeks."

"I have no current plans for liberating any more artwork, so that will not be a concern," he assures her.

"What will Ah do when that's done?" she asks.

"By then you will be preparing to make your way back to North America," he answers as he picks up his plate and starts to leave the kitchen.

"How am I gonna get there?" she inquires.

"I will tell you when the time is right," he replies, pausing in the doorway. "Just concentrate on what needs to be done tonight and then you can worry about the future. After all, your peace of mind hinges on tonight."

"But what if thangs don't go as planned?" she questions.

"Then you will be returning to North America with Inspector Finch still holding your ownership papers," he tells her. "I suggest that you finish your dinner, you will need your strength and wits about you."

"Do ya think they got it?" she softly asks as he turns to leave. "The twins Ah mean."

"It would have arrived in today's post," he tells her, barely looking back over his shoulder at her.

"Do ya think they'll like it?" she questions.

"It came from you, even though they'll probably never know the full extent of your gift, I'm sure they will enjoy it," he assures her and then leaves, knowing all to well what's to come next.

As the sound of his footsteps fades away, she takes a deep shuddering breath and she feels the first of many tears slide down her cheek. By the time the tears run out, her food is quite cold and with sniff and a sigh, she begins to eat.

* * *

"Evenin', love," Tim greets as he steps into the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

"Leftovers," she sighs while she pulls out containers of food from the icebox.

"Somethin' the matter?" he asks as he takes the food from her hands and pulls her into his arms.

"Just Attila the Hun was on one of her rampages again," she grumbles while she lays her head on his chest. "I swear that woman delights in torturing me."

"You can always switch jobs," he points out as he rubs her back. "We've got a little bit of a cushion for you to do that."

"I've already started looking," she tells him. "I'll have to use some of my sick time to do the interviews or do them on my lunch breaks. I just hope that I don't end up with someone worse than Broomhilda."

He chuckles and just holds her, content for this quite moment, something that happens so rarely these days. As if on cue, the twins suddenly burst into the room and he reluctantly lets her go with a sigh.

"When's dinner?" Charles asks.

"I'm starved," Philip adds.

"Dinner will be in a bit," Ruth tells them. "Go set the table please."

The boys quickly gather up the things they'll need and leave the room just as speedily as they came in. She goes back to getting dinner ready by sticking the first container of food into the microwave.

"Anythin' interestin' in the post today?" he questions while she continues to get dinner ready.

"Don't know," she replies as she sticks her head back in the icebox. "I haven't had a chance to go through it yet. It's on the counter if you want to see what came in."

He easily finds the pile, picks it up and then starts to sort through it.

"Bill, bill, junk, bill," he mutters. "What's this?"

"What's what?" she asks, turning to see what he's talking about.

"This," he replies as he holds up a square cardboard envelope. "It's addressed to the boys. There's no return address."

"Then let them open it," she tells him, she can feel her stomach starts doing strange little flip flops. "Boys! You've got mail."

"What is it?" Philip asks as soon as they step into the room and then takes the item handed to him.

"Who's it from?" Charles inquires, looking over his brother's shoulder.

"Doesn't say," Philip tells him.

"Well, open it up then," Charles encourages with a bit of a nudge.

"Ok, ok, keep your shirt on," Philip tells him grumpily as he opens the small package.

A moment later, a small disk and a folded piece of paper slide out onto Philip's hand. The boy unfolds the piece of paper only to have his brother snatch it out of his hand.

"Hey!" Philip yells in protest.

"It's from Mum," Charles announces, pushing his brother away to keep him from grabbing it back.

"I had it first!" Philip shouts as he tries to grab the note back and Tim reaches over, snagging the message before a full blown fight can break out.

"'_My dearest boys, I hope you like this. Play it and think of me. Love, Mum_,'" Tim reads aloud.

"Can we play it now?" Charles asks excitedly.

"Sure," Ruth tells him.

The boys tear out of the room with the adults following at a more sedate pace. By the time Ruth and Tim have reached the living room, they boys are having a fight over who gets to put the disk in. Before either of the grown ups can say anything, the kids get it sorted out and a moment later a woman's clear strong voice comes through the speakers of the CD player.

_If I should stay_

_I would only be in your way_

_So I'll go, But I know_

_I'll think of you every step of the way_

_And I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_You, my darlings you, Mmmmmmm_

_Bittersweet memories_

_That is all I'm taking with me_

_So goodbye, Please don't cry_

_We all know, I'm not what you, you need_

_And I will always love you_

_I will always love you._

_I hope life treats you kind_

_And I hope you have all you dreamed of_

_And I wish you joy and happiness_

_But above all this I wish you love._

_And I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_I…I will always love you…you_

_Darlings, I love you_

_I'll always… I'll always love you_

As the last notes fade away, the boys look at each other in confusion and then look back at their aunt and uncle. Ruth's face is white as a sheet and with a choked sob; she dashes out of the room and down the hall. Tim swiftly follows her and finds her in their bedroom taking in big gasps of air to try and stop the tears, but it doesn't help.

He shuts the door behind him and then quickly pulls her into his arms where she buries her face into his chest. He holds her shaking form to him, ignoring the fact that his shirt is rapidly getting wet. He strokes her hair while he gently rocks her from side to side; knowing that any hope of their lives going back to the way it was has been shot to hell.

"She's not coming back," she whispers several minutes later.

"I know," he softly replies. "Do you think that was her singin'?"

"It could have been," she says with a sigh. "I hope she'll be happy wherever she ends up going."

"I don't know how we're goin' to survive," he quietly admits. "The jewelry's only goin' to get us so far."

"I know," she quietly admits.

"Aunt Ruth? Uncle Tim?" Charles voice calls through the door. "Phil and I finished heating up the food that was on the counter. Can we eat now?"

"Yeah, we'll be out in just a minute," she tells the boy as she reluctantly leaves her husband's arms to search for the box of tissues.

"Ruth, the money," Tim nearly growls.

"We'll deal with it when it's time," she tells him while she wipes her face dry. "Let's not go borrowing trouble."

With that, she blows her nose, tosses out the tissue and leaves the room with Tim right behind her. Both of them know that they're headed for a train wreck and neither one of them knows how to stop it.

* * *

"Audrey?" he softly calls from the doorway of the storage room.

"It's time?" she asks, not bothering to turn and look at the dark figure behind her.

"Yes," he answers.

She nods that she understands and with a sad sigh, gets up out of the desk chair she had been sitting in.

"The boys got my gift," she tells him as she walks past him. "Ruth and Tim weren't too happy about it."

"No, I imagine they weren't," he replies, following behind her. "Unfortunately, there is no other way."

"The boys want to know if Ah'm ever gonna come back," she continues while they make their way to the door.

"Have you replied to them?" he asks as they reach the door.

"No," she answers, watching him as he swings his cloak into place with a flare.

"Good, it's best that you don't," he tells her while he fastens the clasp on the cloak.

"Ah know, but that doesn't make it any easier," she sighs.

"I'm sorry, Audrey, but this is the way it has to be," he says, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Ya keep sayin' that, but it don't make it any easier," she grumbles.

"Doesn't," he automatically corrects. "It doesn't make it any easier. Now come, the Inspector awaits."

With that, he's out the door with a flourish and she sedately follows him, trying to concentrate on the task at hand instead of her breaking heart.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the rights to **I will always love you**, though the slight modifications to the song are made by me. 


	24. Dynamics

"Bloody hell," Dominic gasps as his torch light sweeps over the devastation before him. "What the blazes happened here?"

"I don't know, but I have a feeling I might know who is responsible," Finch quietly replies as he carefully moves closer to the carnage.

"Who?" Dominic asks in shock, stopping in his tracks. "And more importantly, why?"

"I got an email earlier today asking me to meet someone here," Finch explains as he reaches the first body. "That person probably knew what we'd find. This happened only recently. The blood's still fresh."

"Who do you suppose these poor buggers were?" Dominic questions, stepping up next to the Inspector.

"Don't know, but I've got my suspicions," Finch answers as he starts to step as carefully as he can around the rubble and bodies.

"Shouldn't we be calling for help?" Dominic demands while Finch moves away.

"I don't think anyone survived," Finch tells him, not bothering to look back at the other man. "We'd be hearing moaning or something, but it's silent in here except for us."

"Silent as a tomb," Dominic mutters with a shudder when he realizes that Finch is right.

"Exactly," Finch quietly replies as he continues his journey, his torch light carefully sweeping over the bodies for any sign of life.

The two men carefully pick their way past the collapsed tunnel and dead men only to find more of the ceiling has fallen in with more men underneath that as they come around the bend. They stare in amazement at the devastation for a few moments and then continue on, still listening carefully for even so much as a wheeze. By the time they reach the end, they're both a bit ill by what they've seen and they just look back at all of the destruction they've walked past.

"There must be over twenty men under all of that," Dominic whispers.

"Probably more," Finch mutters.

The sound of pebbles shifting causes both men to spin around and pointing their guns at the source of the noise. They both stare in wonder at a woman standing about twenty feet away from them in the middle of the tunnel, squinting against the bright lights of their torches. She's dressed simply in a long sleeved blouse and slacks, her shoes are fashionable but have a flat enough heel to allow her to run if need be, her brown hair is loose around her shoulders and her arms hang down by her sides.

"Audrey?" Finch hesitantly calls and she gives him a small smile.

"You know this lady?" Dominic demands, a bit stressed from seeing all of the corpses and then this lady standing here so close to it.

"Only by reputation," Finch tells him as he slowly moves forward as if he's afraid to spook her. "Can you talk?"

She nods 'yes'.

"Will you talk to us?" Finch asks, still being careful about his speed.

She shakes her head 'no'.

"Why not?" Finch questions, stopping when he sees her backing up a step.

She raises her hands, holds one finger up and points to it with the other hand.

"You're afraid of the Finger," Finch states and she touches a finger to her nose.

"Bloody hell," Dominic gasps again, unconsciously lowering his weapon. "It's that woman we've been looking for. The one you say is a slave and that we've got the ownership papers for."

"Audrey Meadows is no mare, Dominic," Finch tells him as he puts his gun away and then pulls out several sheets of folded paper out of the inside pocket of his coat. "But I have a feeling there's quite an interesting story to why she's here and where the real Georgia Jones is."

He unfolds the papers and then shines his torch on them so she can clearly see what they are. Her brown eyes become very large and a look of hope and want come over her features. She starts to pull something out of her slacks pocket and Dominic trains his gun on her again.

"Easy, Dom," Finch quietly instructs. "I don't think she wants to hurt us."

"You're joking, right?" Dominic scoffs and Finch looks behind him at the destruction that fills the tunnels. "You think she did this?"

"Not by herself, no," Finch replies as he turns his attention back to the woman before them. "But you're involved in this somehow aren't you?"

With a sad look on her face, she slowly nods.

"What have you got in your hand?" Finch asks.

She holds up her hand and he can see a small disc reflecting the light of his torch.

"What's that?" Finch questions.

She holds the disc towards him and then points at the papers he has with her free hand.

"You want to trade?" Finch inquires and she quickly nods. "I can't do that. This is a vital piece of evidence. I shouldn't even have this with me."

She gives a sigh of disgust and then turns away. Dominic makes as if to chase her and Finch grabs his arm. Dominic looks at the Inspector questioningly and Finch just nods his head back towards her. They look back and see her retrieving a laptop computer from where it was leaning against the wall.

They watch as she opens it up and turns it on while she returns to where she had been previously been standing. After typing a few things into the computer, she opens the disc drive and places the disc in. She closes the drive and then places the computer on the ground facing the men before backing away from them.

Once she's reached what she feels is a safe distance, she stops and that's when Finch slowly starts to move towards the laptop with Dominic close behind him. A very long minute later, Finch reaches the computer, puts the papers back in his pocket and picks the laptop up. He opens the files on the disc and nearly drops the computer on the ground.

"Blimey," Dominic breathes as he watches over his superior's shoulder.

"I have to verify this before I can give you the papers," Finch tells her.

She nods and then holds up a finger before pointing to her watch.

"You want us back at one?" Finch asks, a bit confused.

She shakes her head 'no'.

"One day?" Finch questions, even more perplexed and again she shakes her head.

"One hour," Dominic states and she smiles at him, touching the tip of her nose with her finger.

"That doesn't give us a lot of time," Finch tries to argue.

She holds up the finger once more, points at her watch and then turns to walk away.

"Wait!" Finch calls after her as she walks around a corner and he shoves the laptop into Dominic's arms.

Finch chases her, but by the time he reaches the corner, she's already gone. He gets ready to go in search of her, but Dominic follows him, grabs his arm and stops him.

"Chief, she only gave us one hour," Dominic reminds him.

"All right, let's go," Finch grumbles and the two men make their way back the way that they came, still carrying the portable computer.

* * *

She paces back and forth next to the piano; the soothing sounds of Ella Fitzgerald coming from the jukebox do nothing to calm her nearly fried nerves. V disappeared into the depths of the Shadow Gallery the instant they returned, leaving her to her own devices while they wait to see if Finch will return to the tunnels. There's nothing to clean, she doesn't trust herself near her computer, she's even too nervous to bake, so she's left to pacing, sure that she's going to have a nervous breakdown at any moment.

"Chief Inspector Finch returns," he announces as he sweeps into the room like a large, dark phantom.

"Thank God," she moans in relief.

She quietly follows him through the door and back out into the old Tubes as a new set of worries start to plague her. Silently he leads her, his thoughts his own while she nervously chews on her lip. It seems to take an eternity to get there, but they do finally arrive and she returns to her spot just as Finch and Dominic round the corner.

"What little we could check out seems legit," Finch tells her after coming to a stop just past the grizzly remains of Percy's men and pulling her ownership papers out again. "This is still my most powerful piece of evidence so far, but what would be even more powerful would be someone who could testify."

She looks worriedly at him and starts to shift nervously on her feet as if she's getting ready to make a break for it.

"I've read this quite thoroughly," he tells her. "It says that whoever owns these papers owns the slave named on them. The Nose now owns these papers and as the head of the Nose, I'm the one in control of them."

The men watch as Audrey's eyes get incredibly large as Finch's words sink in and she turns to run.

"Slave, STOP!" Finch barks.

Audrey stops dead in her tracks and even from the distance they are at and the darkness of the tunnels, they can see her twitching as her still mending spirit fights with her training.

"Come here," Finch orders.

She fights with herself as she takes a couple of steps towards him and then stops, trembling from head to foot, her eyes bright with unshed tears and she's breathing heavily as if she's just run a mile.

"I said come here!" Finch demands, pointing to a spot just in front of him. "NOW!"

She takes in a large shaking breath as the tears start to flow down her cheeks and she slowly obeys. When she's a couple of feet from Finch, she slowly drops to her knees, seemingly oblivious to the debris that litters the ground and must be digging into her knees and shins. She stares at Finch's feet while her silent sobs wrack her body and she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that what little freedom she has enjoyed these past few months is over.

"Audrey," Finch quietly calls to get her attention as he squats down to her level. "Where's Georgia?"

She opens and closes her mouth several times, even more tears flowing down her face as her past training wars with her new master's orders.

"Talk to me, Audrey, that's an order," Finch softly instructs. "Where's Georgia Jones?"

"France," she whispers, flinching as she waits for the first blow.

"Where in France?" Finch asks, detecting an accent, but not able to tell from where.

"Ah don't know," she answers between the sobs.

"Bloody hell," Dominic gasps. "She's an American."

Finch sighs and nods as he reaches out and gently pulls the wig off of her head. The red roots are all too evident and Finch gently puts his hand beneath her chin, pushing her face for him to better see her.

"Look at me," Finch gently tells her and she briefly looks him in the eye before looking down again. "Take your contacts out."

"Should I contact the French police to put an APB on Georgia Jones?" Dominic asks and she gives a humorless snort while she takes the contacts out.

"You don't think the French police could find her?" Finch asks.

"Thay wouldn't be able ta find her even if thay knew where ta look," she bitterly answers, her accent thick with tears and she hastily wipes her face with the back of her hand. "There ain't enough o' her left ta identify even if thay could find where Michael and Percy buried her."

Finch stands up and then bends down to help her to her feet. He takes her over to a sizeable piece of rubble and has her sit down on it while he pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her.

"What happened to her, Audrey?" Finch inquires as she dries her face.

With a tired, defeated sigh, she tells them of Georgia Jones's fate and why she will never be found in a monotone voice, all hope gone from her. She silently prays that that whatever plans Finch has for her, it doesn't include beatings. She's gotten rather used to being bruise and welt free and being able to wear short sleeves and skirts again. By the time she's done telling her tale, both men are looking a bit green around the gills and silence fills the tunnels as they think about what she's just said.

"What now?" Dominic asks.

"That's up to Audrey," Finch tells him and she looks up at him in surprise before quickly turning her gaze back to the floor. "There are a couple of boys who would love to see their mum again."

"Their mum is dead," she points out, as new tears start to leave their wet tracks down her face.

"Not as far as they're concerned," Finch reminds her.

"She will be within tha next few days," she tells him sadly.

"How so?" Finch asks a bit worriedly.

"On tha other side o' the city a warehouse is currently burning," she informs him. "When tha firefighters finally get tha fire put out, the building will be destroyed. In the remains thay'll find what appears to be someone's home in the building."

"A home with no windows," Finch states and she nods.

"It'll be filled with burnt books and paintin's and thay'll find tha remains of a woman. The only thang left ta identify her will be tha wedding an' engagement rings on her finger. Ruth will be able ta identify them as tha custom made rings that Michael had made for Georgia."

"Who's the woman that's really in there?" Finch demands.

"Some poor woman who didn' survive Creedy's hospitality," she replies and Finch nods in understanding.

"What about you?" Finch inquires. "Where will you go?"

"Wherever ya tell meh ta go," she softly responds and belatedly adds, "Master."

"Say you didn't have a master, where would you go? What would you do?" Finch questions.

"I'd go back to North America," she wistfully replies.

"How the bloody hell are you going to do that?" Dominic demands. "It's not like you can bloody well go down to the airport and buy a ticket home."

She quickly glances at Finch, but doesn't answer.

"It's a fair question," Finch says. "Answer him."

"Ah don't know," she replies. "_He_ has it all figured out, but he hasn't told meh any o' tha details yet."

"He?" Finch asks. "The man who killed Major Jones?"

"Yes," she answers softly.

"Where is he right now?" Finch demands, excited by the idea that this case might finally be closed.

"Nearby," she responds and Dominic starts swinging his torch around to see if he can find the guy. "Ah don't know exactly where, but he's close by. Ya won' be able ta find him unless he wants ta be found, so Ah wouldn' bother if Ah were ya."

"We should get out of here, Chief," Dominic suggests and Finch nods.

"Alright, let's go," Finch says as he pulls her to her feet.

"What are ya doin'?" she asks nervously.

"We're leaving," Finch answers.

"Please don't," she begs, trying to pull away from him. "Just let meh go, please."

"You're our only witness against Percy and Shire Stables," Finch tells her. "You'll be safer with us than with a murderer."

"Percy's dead along with most o' his men," she tells him. "Tha information on tha disc will be enough fo' ya ta close them down fo' good. Ya don' need me. Please, let meh go. Please, ya've been so nice ta the boys and Ruth, Ah don' wanna see ya get hurt. So many people are dead because of meh, Ah don' think Ah can take anybody else getting' hurt."

"You think the man who killed Jones will hurt us?" Finch asks.

"No," she quietly sobs. "He'll kill ya."


	25. Andante

**Author's Notes:** I'M SORRY! I know I said I'd try to do better, but my crazy muse got me started on _yet_ another story, this time in the Transformers universe. _(head meets desk)_ Well, on the plus side, this story is slowly coming to an end and hopefully will only take a few more chapters. As always, please enjoy and review.

* * *

"I don't get it," Dominic growls. "One minute you're telling the Inspector you'll go wherever he tells you and now you're saying you can't go because the man who killed Jones will kill us!?"

She doesn't answer him, but looks absolutely miserable as more tears ruin what's left of her makeup.

"Take it easy, Dom, I can't imagine it's very easy for her right now," Finch says in a calm and reassuring voice as he places a hand on her shoulder. "The Man's been teaching you to be your own person again, hasn't he?"

"Yes, sir," she whispers, staring down at the floor.

"It can't be easy going against your training, can it?" Finch softly asks.

"No, sir," she quietly responds.

"Given a choice, who would you rather go with, us or The Man?" Finch questions.

"The Man," she immediately answers.

"Why?" Finch inquires.

"He saved my life when he had no reason ta," she tells him. "He could o' left meh fo' Creedy ta find, but he didn't. He's kept meh safe an' he's taken care o' meh an' he's promised ta send me back ta North America. He's given meh hope."

"So that was your blood we found in the house," Finch states.

"Yes," she confirms. "Michael tried ta shoot The Man, but he blocked the shot an' it ricocheted an' hit meh instead."

"How's he going to get you out of the country?" Finch inquires.

"Ah don't know," she replies. "He hasn't told meh anythan' other than he's workin' on it."

"What's waiting for you in North America?" Finch asks.

"Just my freedom," she says. "Ya have no idea what my life has been like these past several years."

"You're right, I don't," Finch concedes. "Is the stuff on that disc everything it appears to be?"

"Yes, with Percy an' most o' his men dead, there shouldn't be enough people left at the stables ta give ya a real fight," she answers. "But watch out for Percy's widow. From what Ah understand she make's Lizzie Borden look like a real sweetheart."

"I'll keep that in mind," Finch tells her with half a smile.

"What can you tell us about The Man?" Finch asks. "Why did he kill Jones?"

"Michael done him wrong a very long time ago an' he was finally able ta get his revenge," she answers. "That's all Ah can tell ya, Ah don't know what Michael did, but it was somethan' real bad. Ah don't know nothan' about The Man. Ah don't know where he's from or what his real name is or even what he looks like since he's always wearin' a disguise."

"Where have you been living all of this time?" Finch questions.

"Ah told ya," she replies. "We were livin' in that abandoned warehouse."

"So you haven't been living in the tunnels?" Finch asks.

"O' course not," she smiles. "But you an' Percy both got it in ya'lls heads that's where we were, so we used it ta our advantage. It's a real shame that Percy an' his men were all down here when those tunnels collapsed."

"You expect me to put that in the report?" Finch nearly demands, the cop in him appalled by the idea.

"Try and prove it otherwise," she counters with a raised eyebrow.

"Where are you living now?" he asks.

"Someplace safe," she evasively replies. "Ah can't tell ya'll where since The Man makes me wear a blindfold when we're comin' or goin'."

"If you could tell us anything about The Man, would you?" he inquires.

"No," she tells him flatly. "He's given meh my life back an' Ah will not betray that."

"Do you love him?" Finch questions and she laughs.

"Good heavens, no," she chuckles. "The Man can get on my nerves somethan' fierce an' Ah'm not entirely sure he's playin' with a full deck, but that don't mean Ah'll give him up ta anyone who asks."

"Do you really think he can keep you safer then we can?" he inquires.

"No offence, Inspector, but ya'lls government hasn't exactly been kind an' understandin' to anyone who's different close ta twenty years now," she points out. "Ah'll take my chances with the loony murderer over the possibility o' Creedy gettin' his mitts on meh, thank ya very much. Besides, the only reason ya'll found meh is because he wanted ya ta. Ah doubt that ya could hide meh like he has."

"You're putting a lot of faith into him," he warns. "He could be just lying to you."

"True, but he's kept he's word so far an' quite frankly, Ah trust him," she tells him.

"But you don't trust us," he states.

"Would ya in my place?" she asks. "Ya'll are too close ta the spider waitin' in its web fo' my likin', so I'll just stick with the crazy person, thank ya."

He nods his understanding as he reaches inside his coat and pulls out her ownership papers again. The men can see her visibly trembling with a look of longing and hope on her face while the Inspector gives the papers one last going over. After spending several minutes staring at the pages, he carefully folds them up and places them in her shaking hands. She lets out a sob of relief as she clutches those precious papers to her chest and Finch helps her sit down again.

"Thank ya," she whispers when she's finally able to pull herself together.

"Are you sure about this?" he inquires worriedly.

"As sure as anythan' else in my screwed up life," she softly answers. "Thank ya for all you've done for the twins and Ruth. Please, keep them safe."

"I'll do my best," he assures her, resting a hand on her shoulder one last time. "If you change your mind, you have my email."

"Thank ya, Inspector, but don't be holdin' your breath for that email," she says with a small smile.

"I won't," he replies. "Good luck, Audrey. I hope everything works out for you."

"Thank ya, Inspector, Detective, and goodbye," she responds as she stands up, her head held up proud.

Without another word, she walks away from the two men, never looking back and then she disappears around a corner.

"So that's it," Dominic states in a huff. "You're just going to let her walk away."

"What would you have me do, Dom?" Finch questions as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of her overcoat. "Drag her into protective custody kicking and screaming? What if she was telling us the truth about The Man being somewhere nearby, ready to kill us if we did try to take her? Creedy's got too many spies in our department for us to be able to keep her safe for long and if The Man can get her out of the country, then I wish him all the luck in the world. Now come on, we need to report this tunnel collapse and get the clean up crew in here and then we have a raid to plan."

Before Dominic can form a response, Finch starts back the way the came, pausing at the bend in the tunnel to look behind him and sees Dominic standing there, staring at the corner she vanished around only a few moments ago. Some small part of him wants to go after her and assure her that they can keep her safe and help her get back home, but his sensible side knows it's not true and he turns back around to find Finch sadly watching him. With a frustrated sigh, Dominic follows his boss, hoping that maybe someday this screwed up world that they live in won't be so messed up anymore.

* * *

"I must say that I am most impressed with your performance this evening," V states after he shuts the outer most door to the Gallery.

"Thanks, but it wasn't an act," she tells him as she follows him through the nearly dark tunnel, still clinging to those papers with a death grip.

"I know," he says quietly while they move closer to his home. "It is fortunate that the good Inspector never told you to tell him the truth."

"Ah would have found away around tellin' him the truth without completely lyin'," she tells him. "I've spent nearly nine years of my life livin' a lie. Ah've gotten rather good at not tellin' the whole truth."

"I do have to take exception to something you did tell the Inspector though," he mentions while he unlocks the final door.

"What's that?" she questions.

"Loony murderer?" he asks as soon as the door is shut. "Not playing with a full deck?"

"Ah just call 'em as Ah see 'em, V," she responds with a smirk as she walks past him.

"You know, I should be taking offence with that," he replies while he follows her.

"An ya'll are gonna tell meh that dressin' up like Guy Fawkes every day and livin' like a gopher is somethan' a sane person would do?" she counters as she steps into the kitchen.

"Touché," he replies with a nod of his head. "What are you planning on doing now?"

"Right this second?" she questions as she picks up a box of matches off of the back of the stove. "Right now, Ah intend ta commit arson."

Bemused, he watches as she takes a match out of its box, lights it and then proceeds to burn her ownership papers over the sink. She holds onto those sheets for as long as physically possible until the flames finally force her to release her hold on them and she drops the burning debris into the sink. She turns the water on a few moments later and he can hear the fire extinguish with a hiss.

"How do you feel?" he asks as she sinks down into a chair.

"Like for the first time in nearly ten years Ah can breathe again," she softly answers with a relieved sigh. "Thank ya, V."

"You are most welcome, Audrey," he responds with a little bow. "I suggest you get some rest now. Tomorrow you start working towards your trip to North America."

Before she can ask what he has planned, he spins around, his cape twirling around him and he disappears down one of the dark hallways of the Gallery.

"No rest for the wicked," she sighs before wearily hauling herself to her feet and seeking her own bed.

* * *

"What's this thang supposed to do?" she asks a bit nervously.

"It's to simulate the deck of a ship at sea," he answers.

"Ok, now Ah know ya're completely plum loco," she states while she nervously eyes the strange and rather large contraption he's created and he simply chuckles in response. "What exactly am Ah supposed to do on this thang?"

"Just stand there," he tells her as he leads her over to the steps that will help her onto the platform.

"Are ya getting' up here with meh?" she questions while she gingerly steps up onto the ten by ten area and she idly notes that the surface is covered in some strange textured tiles that appear to be washable.

"No," he replies as he moves away, taking the steps with him.

"Ok, so what am Ah doin' up here?" she inquires while she watches him go over to a board with a switch and a dial on it.

"You are to learn to balance as if you were on a sea going vessel," he tells her as he flips the switch and the sound of an electric motor fills the room.

"Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, V, why the Sam hell do Ah need to learn that?" she demands as the platform starts to dip and sway back and forth.

"It will be vital for your trip back to North America," he replies, the amusement evident in his voice.

"How long are ya plannin' on leavin' meh up here?" she shouts at him as he heads for the door.

"Until I feel you've mastered the skill," he answers just before he disappears around the corner.

She mutters a few choice words under her breath as she tries to keep her balance on the gently swaying board. She finds herself stumbling from side to side, trying to stay away from the edges so she doesn't fall off and thinking many unkind thoughts about a certain masked man's parentage. It doesn't help that within minutes she feels her stomach rebelling and she's sure that her breakfast is going to come up for a visit at any moment.

* * *

"Well, at least you're still upright," he observes when he steps back into the room a short eternity later.

"V, thank Gawd ya're here," she moans as she stumbles across the platform again. "Get meh off o' this damn thang."

"I'm afraid that will not be possible," he tells her as he walks over to the panel and places a black gloved hand on the dial.

"What do ya mean it's not possible?" she yells and he turns the dial up a notch. "Damn it, V! That just made it worse!"

"Yes, I know," he says as he heads for the door once more. "You might find it easier if you bend your knees and let the platform move underneath you instead of fighting it."

"V, YA GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT AN' TURN OFF THIS CRAZY THANG!" she screams as he leaves her again and her only answer is his chuckle.

Scene change

By the time he comes to check on her again, she's given up trying to remain upright and is lying in the middle of the platform. She's thrown up more times than she can count and she doesn't think that she'll be able to keep food down ever again. When the platform finally stops moving, she bursts into tears, relieved that the torment is finally over.

He places the steps back where they belong and then goes up to assist her down. He's a bit surprised by all the spots of vomit covering the area and he's glad that he had covered it with the same tiling they use on boats making it easy to wash off. After ascertaining that pretty much the entire platform is covered by the contents of her stomach, he gets back down and leaves.

A short time later, he returns with a couple of large buckets of water. He climbs back up onto the platform and tosses the contents of the first pail so that the water splashes from him to her. She doesn't even flinch when the water hits her and he frowns behind the mask. Carrying the second bucket with him, he carefully makes his way to her and gives a puff of disappointment when he looks down at her.

She lies there in a fetal position trembling and lying in her own vomit while tears silently escaping her closed eyes. He takes the second pail of water and dumps it directly on her and she barely even moves. He drags her to her feet and hauls her to the edge of the platform as she tries to cling to him so as to remain upright should he let go.

He half carries, half drags her down the steps and out of the room, not caring about the trail of water she's leaving behind. He marches down the hallway, never slowing his brisk pace until they reach the bathroom. Without a word, he lifts her up and unceremoniously drops her into the tub just before he turns on the shower, not caring what the temperature of the water is.

"Get cleaned up and then meet me in the kitchen," he instructs just before he exits the room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

She lays there for something shy of eternity trying to get her world to stop spinning around, not caring that the water is just shy of freezing cold and once she's sure she's not going to throw up any more, only then does she start to try and get cleaned up.


	26. Dissonance

_:sneaks in, posts and then runs away, barely dodging flying objects from angry readers:_

* * *

She slowly shuffles her way into the kitchen well over an hour later and practically falls down into a chair looking, for lack of a better term, like the walking dead. Her eyes are red, puffy and blood shot with dark circles underneath them and her complexion is almost the same color as the white bathrobe she's wearing. She ignores the fact that V is staring at her in a disapproving manner as she tries to convince her limbs to stop shaking, her body to quit sweating so much and her stomach to settle down.

"I must say I am disappointed by your performance," he finally states after an eternity of silence.

"Why did ya put meh through that?" she asks after convulsively swallowing to keep from dry heaving right there at the table.

"You will be returning to North America on a boat," he answers as he turns to start filling the tea kettle. "You need to have the ability to move on a boat as if you know what you're doing if you are to make it across the Atlantic Ocean."

"V, Ah've never been on a boat in my entire life," she tells him while he puts the kettle on the stove to heat. "Isn't there some other way?"

"None that wouldn't guarantee your capture," he tells her while he gathers the necessary items out of the cupboards. "The authorities are watching all of the normal means of exit out of the country, even if you were in disguise, you would more than likely be found."

"But they're not checkin' the harbors?" she questions.

"They're not checking the fishing boats leaving out of Scottish harbors or privately owned yachts out of Liverpool," he clarifies as he lays out the tea making paraphernalia on the table.

"How the devil am Ah supposed to get to Liverpool? Or Scotland for that matter?" she inquires testily. "Ah'm not even sure how ya'll are gonna get meh out o' London an' you expect me ta get on a boat in Scotland?"

"There are ways to get you out of London without detection, but it will be uncomfortable at best," he warns her. "Once you're out of London, you will be taken to Liverpool and put on a private boat as one of the crew that will take you to Troon in Scotland. From there you will transfer to a deep sea fishing boat that will meet up with a Canadian fishing boat and then it's just a matter of them getting you to North America."

"That all sounds good in theory, but a lot o' things can go wrong with ya'lls plan, V," she points out. "How do we get past the fact that if Ah so much as squeak they're gonna know Ah'm not English?"

"You will let them know that you have a speech impediment that makes it too hard for you to talk so you simply write what you need to say," he answers. "No more whistling or hand signals."

"Ok, but what could Ah possibly do on a boat?" she asks. "Ah don't know thang one o' how ta be a sailor."

"You shall be the cook on the private yacht and on the fishing boat you will work with the others helping to bring in the catch," he tells her.

"Ya've really thought this out, haven't ya?" she questions as the teakettle starts to whistle. "Ah suppose it won't matter to ya that Ah've never gutted a fish in my life."

"Yes, I've thought this out quite thoroughly and you won't need to worry about gutting the fish, just catching them," he replies while he gets up to get the water to pour into the teapot.

"Ah don't suppose tellin' ya'll that Ah think it's a horrible idea is gonna deter any?" she says with a sigh.

"No, it will not," he responds as he pours a cup of tea and puts it in front of her. "This should help ease your queasy stomach."

"Thanks," she mumbles as she moves the sugar bowl closer to her. "What am Ah gonna do if Ah do make it back to North America? Ah've never been on my own before."

"You have managed a household before," he points out.

"Ah was a cook, a nanny and a maid," she counters as she drops a couple sugar cubes into her cup. "Ah don't know a thang about finances. Ah probably couldn't balance a checkbook if my life depended on it."

"You will manage, you're a smart woman," he says and she snorts at his words.

"The jury's still out on that one," she mumbles while she blows on her tea.

"You will do fine," he assures her as he heads out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, Ah'll be just peachy," she miserably mutters to herself just before she finally starts to drink the still hot liquid.

* * *

He stalks through the Shadow Gallery, a scowl on his face hidden by the cheery grin of Guy Fawkes and his eyes narrow as he glares at the empty kitchen. It's been nearly a week since her new training sessions started and it's time for her to get back up on that platform for today's lesson, but she's nowhere to be found. He's checked her room, the bathroom, the TV room and now the kitchen, but she's conspicuously absent in all of those places.

With a puff of frustration, he heads for the room that she no longer needs to be in. He has explosives to make, mayhem to plan and he really doesn't have time for this foolishness. He marches down the hallway, intent on dragging her back to the training area, by her two-toned hair if need be.

"There is no reason to be in here," he states heatedly when he sees her sitting in front of her computer when he steps into the art storage room. "You no longer need to concern yourself with the artwork. I will finish cataloging whatever you haven't."

She doesn't answer and she doesn't turn around to look at him, which greatly irks him. He hears her take a deep, shuddering breath and it's only then that he notices that her entire body is shaking. With two steps he's standing next to her, towering over her and glaring at her, but she still doesn't acknowledge his presence.

The glow from the computer monitor lights up her face and what he sees just aggravates him more. Tears are freely flowing down her face and her fist crammed against her lips to keep from wailing out loud. With a puff of barely contained anger, he looks at the screen to see what's got her so upset this time and sees that she's opened her email account again.

_Mum,_

_Inspector Finch was just here and he had some rings with him. He said that they were found on the body of a woman who was trapped in a burning building. Aunt Ruth says that they're yours, but I know that she's wrong. I know you're still alive and Charles thinks so too. When you email me, then I can show them that you're still alive and they should keep looking for you. Respond soon please._

_Love, _

_Philip_

"There's at least another dozen messages from the boys all startin' from last night," she whispers with a sniff. "Ah don't have the courage ta open the rest o' them."

"Have you responded to this one?" he demands.

"Give meh some credit fo' havin' a few brain cells," she snaps, finally looking up at him. "Ya think Ah wanna be slammed into the bookshelf again? Ah may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but Ah do learn."

"Speaking of learning, you have yet to master the skill of getting your sea legs," he points out and she scowls at him. "The welfare of Georgia's boys is no longer your concern. I suggest you keep your focus on preparing for your journey home."

"Ya'll are a cold an' heartless bastard, ya know that?" she snarls as she launches herself to her feet.

Before he can respond, she marches past him, pushing him out of her way as she goes and stomps out of the room. Slightly stunned, he stands there a moment before following her out through the Gallery and finally into the training room. He steps into the room just as she's taking her place in the middle of the platform and she turns and glares at him.

"Now remember…," he starts as he walks over to the controls.

"Ah know," she abruptly snaps at him. "Move with the platform, don't fight it. Just turn the damn thang on already."

Without another word, he turns on the machine, starting it at a higher setting than he has before and then leaves her to find her sea legs.

* * *

When he returns a few hours later, he finds her sitting on the platform with her head between her knees. He turns off the machine and moves the steps over to the side, getting ready to go up there and get her only to be surprised to find her getting herself down. He reaches out and steadies her when she slightly wobbles and while she doesn't brush him off, she doesn't lean into the helping hand as she has in the past.

Once she's back on solid ground, she weakly pushes him away and slowly walks out of the room, occasionally staggering as if she's drunk. He quietly trails after her as she makes her way to her room, still unsteady, but with her head held high and a very determined look on her face. A few moments later, she emerges from her room with clothes in hand and heads down the hall, locking herself in the bathroom a short time later and never sparing him so much as a glance.

* * *

Several days later he finds her sitting in the TV room watching the television and it's quite evident to him that she's quietly crying again. He silently thanks whatever deities that may be listening that she's not carrying on like she had when she first came to the Shadow Gallery, but at the same time, his patience can only go so far. He turns his attention to the set and sees the tail end of a news report detailing the funeral of Georgia Jones while pictures of the grieving children are shown.

"Really, Audrey, you do yourself no favors by tormenting yourself this way," he states as he picks up the remote and turns the telly off.

"Ah'm dead," she softly growls, still staring at the blank set in front of her. "Thanks ta ya, those boys no longer have a mother _or_ a father."

Before he can form an appropriate response, she launches herself at him, catching him square in the chest. She knocks him back only a step before he recovers and grabs her wrists to prevent any further attacks on his person. She twists her arms around, breaking his hold on her and then glares at him with red, puffy eyes.

He gets ready to counter another attack, but instead she spins on her heel and angrily marches out of the room. A short time later, the door to her room can be heard slamming shut and he blinks a few times in surprise. He frowns briefly at the doorway she disappeared through and then lets out a puff of frustration before heading towards the kitchen.

* * *

He places her dinner plate on the table and then goes to find her, a bit surprised that she isn't already there waiting for it like she has in the past. He first makes sure that she's not back in the storage room and is relieved to find it empty. He finds the TV room and the bathroom both empty as well, so he heads for her bedroom.

He gently raps on the open door with one leather clad knuckle and she only glances up to acknowledge that she knows he's there. She turns her attention back to the open book in front of her and the short length of rope in her hands. He watches in silence as she finishes tying the knot she's been working on and then she lies the finished product down next to several other knotted pieces of rope.

"Much better," he commends.

"Thanks," she quietly replies, not sounding the least bit pleased. "Now all Ah have ta do is memorize what each knot looks like, where it goes an' how ta make it. Ah figure some time within the next decade or so Ah'll have it all figured out."

"I am sure it won't take you that long," he assures her. "You're dinner is waiting."

She nods and then slides off of the bed, quietly padding out of her room in her stocking feet. He allows her to pass before quietly following her down the corridor as silent as fog even though he's wearing boots. She knows he's right behind her, but she can barely hear him and it makes the hairs on her neck and arms stand up. She barely manages to suppress a shudder and picks up the pace to get to the kitchen in an attempt to get away from him.

Once she reaches her goal, she quickly sits down and picks up her fork. Much to her dismay, he follows her in and starts to putter around the room, putting things away and cleaning up a bit. She barely manages not to snarl at him and instead tries to politely get rid of him

"Thank ya for makin' meh dinner," she says as she loads up the utensil in her hand with food. "Are ya gonna be joinin' meh?"

"You are most welcome," he replies, barely turning towards her while he wipes off the counter. "I have already eaten, so please enjoy your meal."

"All right, what do ya want this time?" she nearly demands when it becomes apparent that he's not about to leave, setting her fork down on the plate with a loud 'clink'.

"Am I not allowed to clean up the kitchen in my own home?" he asks, turning towards her.

"Ya never hang around while Ah'm eatin' unless ya want to badger meh about somethin'," she shoots back. "So let's just get it over with so Ah can eat my dinner in peace."

"Why the sudden hostility?" he questions, leaning against the counter he had so recently been wiping off.

"Ya have got ta be jokin'," she almost snarls, glaring at him.

"I assure you, Audrey, that I am most certainly not joking," he replies, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Ya take away the two most important people in my life an' Ah'm supposed ta be happy it?" she snaps, her nerves about shot by his sadistic training and his insensitivity to her feelings.

"They weren't your children, Audrey," he points out and he's quite surprised to see the absolute rage on her face.

"Wha' tha bloody difference does tha' make!?" she yells, launching herself to her feet and causing the chair to noisily scrape across the floor. "Ya'll don' hafta be related ta someone ta love 'em!"

"It's better this way," he tells her.

"Fo' who!?" she shouts, her body trembling and her face red with anger. "Ya'll couldn't leave well enough alone! Ya jus' had ta go an' kill Michael an' fuck up my already fucked up life even more! If anyone had tha righ' ta kill tha' miserable bastard, it should've been meh! He beat meh almost every day fo' over eight years. Wha' tha hell did he do ta ya'll ta make ya go an' kill him years after tha fact?"

"Do you know what sodomy is, Audrey?" he softly inquires and he gets a little satisfaction as her face goes from beet red to ghostly white.

"Dear lord, he didn't…" she gasps as she shakily tries to sit down and nearly ends up on the floor.

"He did," he confirms while he goes to help her regain her seat. "Unlike you, my dear lady, I cannot say that I escaped his sexual attentions. I also endured the feeling of his belt on my bare skin and I dare say it was on me that he learned how hard he could beat a person before the skin broke."

"Ah'm sorry, V," she whispers, unable to look up at him.

"Don't be," he sighs as he steps back. "We have both suffered at his hands and the world is a better place without him in it."

"Ah won't disagree with ya on that point, but did ya hafta kill him that night?" she asks miserably. "Couldn't ya have waited until Ah was already at Ruth's? Ah was gonna be there until Sunday, ya could have done him in on Saturday."

"If I had waited until Saturday, then I would have had to deal with his lover as well," he calmly points out. "The only person who deserved to die was Jones, not the man who shared his bed. We've been through this before, Audrey. Bringing it up again won't change the past."

"Ah know, Ah just wish…," she sighs as her words trail off.

"If wishes were horses…," he starts.

"…then beggars would ride," she finishes.

"I know you miss them, but it's time to let them go," he softly tells her.

"That's just it, V," she sadly replies. "Ah'm not sure that I can."

Before he can form a response, she stands and quietly walks away, her barely touched dinner left cooling on the table.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry about the delay. Real life can really suck some times. There is light at the end of this tunnel and I'm fairly sure it's not an oncoming train, so hopefully this beast is almost done. 


	27. Crescendo

** Author's Notes:** There's a light at the end of the tunnel!

* * *

The weeks following her meeting with Finch go by in a blur of different trainings ranging from self defense to getting her sea legs. She eventually masters moving with the platform, though he does warn her that it's a poor substitute for the real thing which leads to her giving him a piece of her mind. She also has lessons memorizing the parts of the boats she'll be on and she does eventually learn to tie the appropriate knots and where they belong. 

Because of the constant working out, her body looses what little fat she had left to take on the form of an athlete. To go with her new body, her hair has been cut much shorter and dyed back to its original color and she no longer looks like the timid woman that he first carried into his home. With the burning of those papers, she no longer acts like the beaten slave she once was and V counts this as both a blessing and a curse since he's more than once been the target of a rather sharp tongue.

Finally, on one chilly autumn morning, V announces her immanent departure. She says nothing, but just nods that she's heard him and then with a sad sigh, goes to pack her bag. He tries to ignore that sigh, but he knows her too well and ends up following her to her room.

"Is something troubling you, Audrey?" he asks.

"Nothin' that matters ta ya," she answers shortly while she sets everything out on her bed, intentionally not looking at him.

"I like to think that over the past six months I've gotten to know you quite well and you'll have to excuse me if I don't believe you," he replies as his arms cross over his chest and she pauses in her task.

"Ah'm really leavin' 'em," she quietly responds after a few moments and she can hear him draw a breath. "Ah know what ya'll are gonna say, so ya can just save ya'lls breath. Ah know Ah can't go back ta 'em. But is it a crime that Ah took some comfort knowin' that Ah was at least near 'em?"

"No, it is not," he softly confirms, turning to leave her to her task. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know."

Once she's sure he's gone, she sits on the edge of the bed and silently cries. It takes some time before the tears run dry and when they finally do, she has a pounding headache. She ignores the pain like she learned to do so long ago, dries her face and then goes back to packing.

* * *

"Have you got everything?" he asks as she joins him near the piano with her bag over her shoulder and her guitar case in hand. 

"Ah believe so, why?" she responds.

"Well, I noticed that not all of the items that I obtained for you have been removed from the bathroom," he replies.

"If ya'll are talkin' about tha feminine hygiene products, then no, Ah didn't take 'em all," she tells him. "Ah took what Ah needed."

"Would you care to explain why not?" he questions. "It's not like I'll ever be using them."

"Because, V, ya got meh enough products ta last meh at least another year," she answers. "Besides, there's no way Ah'd be able ta fit all o' those things in my bag an' still have room fo' my clothes."

"Fair enough," he responds with a nod. "Speaking of clothes, I noticed you didn't pack all of the outfits I got you."

"Again, not enough room," she replies. "Besides, some o' those outfits just aren't practical fo' tha high seas an' that pretty burgundy dress is about a size too small. Ah'm sure ya'll find some woman whom ya can give those clothes ta."

"I don't exactly make it a habit to go out meeting young women," he points out.

"Well, ya didn't go out lookin' fo' meh, but here Ah am," she counters and a smile starts to twitch at the corners of her mouth. "Besides, maybe ya'll find yaself helpin' another damsel in distress who just happens ta be another letter in tha alphabet an' then tha two o' ya can run off an' raise a whole bunch o' little letters."

"I shall miss your unique perspective on things," he chuckles, a smile stretching the latex of his mask as he picks his hat up off of the piano and then he pauses. "I wonder if you would do me one last favor before you go."

"What's that?" she asks.

"Would you sing for me one last time?" he requests.

"Do we have time?" she inquires. "It'll take meh several minutes ta tune my guitar."

"Perhaps you have something that could be played on the piano," he suggests.

"Yeah, Ah think Ah do," she tells him as she sets her stuff down. "Give meh just a moment."

He puts his hat on his head, smoothly props the lid of the instrument open to allow for the true sound to come out and then takes a seat on the bench, dropping his hat down next to him. Meanwhile, she opens the guitar case, pulls out the sheets of music and then quickly finds the one she's looking for. She puts the pieces of paper on the stand, spreading them out to make it easier for him to read before taking a place behind him so that she can see the words as well as the notes. He gives the music a quick study and after about a minute, he puts his fingers on the keys and starts to play.

**When the dark wood fell before me  
And all the paths were overgrown  
When the priests of pride say there is no other way  
I tilled the sorrows of stone**

**I did not believe because I could not see  
Though you came to me in the night  
When the dawn seemed forever lost  
You showed me your love in the light of the stars**

**  
Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me**

**Then the mountain rose before me  
By the deep well of desire  
From the fountain of forgiveness  
Beyond the ice and the fire**

**Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me **

**Though we share this humble path, alone  
How fragile is the heart  
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly  
To touch the face of the stars**

**Breathe life into this feeble heart  
Lift this mortal veil of fear  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears  
We'll rise above these earthly cares**

**Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me, **

**Please remember me,  
Please remember me ...**

As the last notes fade away, they both remain perfectly still, almost as if they're afraid to move.

"Have ya played this piece before?" she asks several moments later, amazed by his flawless performance.

"I can assure you that I've never seen this piece of music before," he answers.

"Ah am impressed," she admits. "Ah have ta practice fo' quite some time before what Ah'm playin' can even be recognized."

"Your voice is as lovely as I remember it," he tells her quietly. "I shall miss it."

"Thank ya," she softly responds. "Now that ya've filled up tha jukebox, ya can always just turn it on when ya need ta hear another voice an' as an added bonus, they won't be givin' ya any grief."

"I suppose it will have to do," he replies with a small chuckle while he collects the sheets of music and hands them back to her. "We should get going now. Your transportation out of London won't wait for long if we're late."

"No, Ah suppose it won't," she sighs as she returns the music to the guitar case and closes it.

"Are you ready?" he asks while he opens the first door, his hat in hand.

"As ready as Ah'll ever be," she answers as she straightens up with her bag and case.

"Good," he responds and then ushers her out the door.

"V, can Ah ask ya somethin'?" she inquires a moment later.

"Of course," he replies while they make their way down the hallway towards the tubes.

"Ya remember tha night we were plantin' explosives an' we came across some policemen who wanted ta hurt tha Inspector?" she questions.

"Yes," he says, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Ya'll were quotin' somethin' at 'em," she states. "It sounded a lot like what ya'll were quotin' tha night ya killed Michael. What's it from?"

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution. Like valour's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the slave; which ne'er shook hands nor bade farewell to him,"_he quotes proudly. "It's from Macbeth."

"It's awfully long," she observes.

"Thank you," he replies.

"Ah'm not tryin' ta be rude or nothin', but have ya ever thought about shortenin' it a bit?" she asks.

"Shortening it?" he nearly demands, sounding very affronted and coming to an abrupt halt.

"It's just that ya'll were goin' on so long those policemen were gonna turn ya into Swiss cheese long before ya finished," she points out, easily managing not to run into him. "An' maybe if ya'll hadn't been takin' so long, ya coulda finished Michael off before Ah got into tha house."

"You're right, they didn't let me finish and perhaps you're right about the major being taken care of if I hadn't been so fond of that quote," he sighs a few moments later. "I do love the Bard so, but I will give your suggestion some thought. Now come, it's time for us to go."

She nods her understanding and agreement and then follows him out into the cold, drafty tunnels, thankful for the wet weather gear he obtained for her. She pulls her knitted cap down a bit more snugly around her ears and casually wonders when her morals became so twisted that wearing stolen clothing doesn't bother her. Her thoughts turn to that very fateful day nearly ten years ago and she gives a small snort.

"You wish to say something?" he asks and she looks up at him in confusion and a bit of fear. "Don't worry. No one can hear you down here."

"Ah was just thinkin'," she quietly starts. "Fo' tha first time in ten years Ah'll be able ta celebrate my birthday on tha actual day, but then Ah remembered that Ah'll have no one ta celebrate it with."

"And what an auspicious day you were born on too," he purrs. _"Remember, remember, the fifth of November, the Gun Powder Treason and Plot…"_

"_Ah can think o' no reason why tha Gun Powder Treason should ever be forgot," _she finishes for him and he turns to look at her in surprise. "History was my favorite subject in school. Ah had always hoped that Ah'd be able ta come ta England and see some o' tha historic sites. O' course Ah was plannin' on just bein' a tourist, not a captive audience. Is that why ya dress up like Guy Fawkes, V? Are ya'll plannin' on blowin' up Parliament?"

"Not this year I'm not," he tells her with a small chuckle.

"Somethin' tells meh that Ah'll be much happier never knowin' what ya'll have planned," she says a bit nervously.

"That is probably very true," he tells her as he resumes walking and she carefully follows along.

They continue their journey in silence with him plotting where to put the explosives on the Old Bailey building to get the most destruction. She reviews everything she's learned about the vessels she'll be on and the knots she'll have to tie to keep her mind off of the boys she's leaving behind. It's not until she runs into V's back does she realize that something's amiss.

She opens her mouth to ask him what's going on, but he waves her to silence and she immediately tenses. She watches as he takes a hand full of dust and dirt and then he slowly shifts it through his fingers, creating a small cloud of the stuff. She has to quickly cover her mouth to stop a gasp from escaping as a thin line of red light appears.

He looks all around to see what the laser trip could be attached to and when he looks up at the ceiling, he scowls. She's on the verge of bolting back towards the Shadow Gallery when he quickly scoops her up into his arms. She doesn't protest as he carefully steps over the laser and carries her several meters down the tunnel before putting her down again.

No sooner are her feet on the ground than he's picking up a sizable piece of masonry. He pauses for a moment and then tosses the chunk of fallen tunnel right where the laser is. A loud 'SNAP' is heard from the ceiling and a second later a large net hits the ground where they had been standing a few moments ago. As soon as the net hits the ground, electrical arcs can be seen sparking up and over all the lengths of the net.

"A stun net," she hisses and he looks at her. "They're used ta catch escaped slaves with as little damage ta tha handlers or tha property."

"We must hurry," he states in a whisper.

Before she can even blink, she's in his arms again and he's running down the tracks a lot faster than should be humanly possible. She holds onto him this time to keep from being bounced around and she's really worried about whoever set up that net. She's just as concerned for her guitar that's she's trying to keep out of the way by hanging it down his back. But as they come around a corner and into an old defunct train station, her guitar is the least of her worries.

"Well, well, what have we here?" an unfamiliar woman's voice purrs.

"Who are you?" V demands as he sets Audrey on her feet.

"Abigail Percy," she replies and Audrey gets a good look around.

The woman is dressed quite handsomely, has enough jewels on her to choke a horse and her hair and makeup are done to perfection. She's would be rather pretty if she didn't have that smirk on her face and an evil gleam in her eye. However, Audrey's more concerned about the half a dozen armed men that are quickly trying to surround her and V.

"But you can call me Madam," Abigail continues as she saunters down the last few steps and onto the platform. "I believe you have something that belongs to me, 'old man'."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," V replies as he places himself between Audrey and Abigail.

"That little filly that's hiding behind you belongs to me," Abigail retorts, sounding very dangerous. "After what she's cost me, I intend to get her back and get my pound of flesh."

"Audrey, do you know this…woman?" V asks, looking over his shoulder at her and she vigorously shakes her head 'no'. "See? My granddaughter doesn't know you. Now if you'll kindly excuse us…"

"I am many things, 'old man', but stupid isn't one of them," Abigail states haughtily as steps up to the edge of the platform.

"That remains to be seen," V responds, a dangers tone in his voice and Audrey nervously watches as Abigail's men continue to try and circle around them. "Let us go and no harm will come to you or your men."

"Oh, that's rich," Abigail laughs. "You may be stronger than you look, 'old man', but my men have guns and there are six of them to the one of you."

"I'd say that almost makes it almost even," V purrs, causing a shiver to run up Audrey's spine.

"Bring me my property, boys, and make sure that there are no witnesses," Abigail orders.

* * *

**A/N 2:** Hey! Where'd that oncoming train come from?

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own the rights to **Dante's Prayer**, music and lyrics written by Loreena McKennitt.


	28. Atonal

**Author's Notes 1:** Ok, truth be known, I have no idea how Abigail ended up in this story. I hadn't planned on her ever being in it any more than a footnote. She just sort of walked in and screwed everything up. Hell, she didn't even have a name until she started talking, pulled that puppy right out of thin air. At any rate, let's see how V and Audrey deal with this new development. A big thank you to BlaqueCat13 and dog youkai jane, my only reviewers for the last two chapters.

* * *

"No."

The word is growled out so low that at first V doesn't realize where it's coming from. It even startles Abigail's men enough to cause them to pause in their advancement and look uncertainly up at their boss. V looks over at the woman next to him to see her standing with her back ramrod straight and a look of defiance on her face, glaring at the woman up on the platform.

"I beg your pardon, slave?" Abigail huffs with a haughty look plastered on her face. "I did not give you leave to talk."

"Ah ain't a slave no more, ya old hag," Audrey snarls and V tries not to cringe as she mangles the English language. "An' Ah sure as hell ain't gonna be goin' with ya so ya can use meh fo' Gawd only knows what."

"I have your papers right here, so just come along nice and quiet and I promise no harm will come to your...ah..._Grandfather_," Abigail says with a smirk as she pulls several sheets of folded paper out of her pocket.

"Those are just a copy," Audrey scoffs before nodding her head towards V. "As fo' him, he can take care o' himself."

"I will have the originals soon," Abigail states very confidently.

"Considerin' Ah burned tha damn things some time ago, Ah very much doubt it," Audrey sneers.

"You will be punished for your impertinence, slave," Abigail warns, looking a bit shaken from Audrey's news.

"Fuck ya an' tha horse ya rode in on, ya bitch!" Audrey yells, trembling with rage.

"Bring her here, boys," Abigail orders, anger very much evident in her voice, though her face barely changes. "And don't worry about being a bit _rough_ with her."

The men move towards V and Audrey at her command and V shifts himself between Audrey and the ones closest to them. He quickly starts to calculate where the men are and what it will take to kill them and how long before the next couple of men reach them. A flash of movement in his peripheral vision has him turning his head around in time to see her guitar case smashing against the temple of one of the men who managed to get behind them.

"Keep ya hands ta yaself, ya filthy bastard," Audrey snarls as the man goes down.

"Really, Audrey, such language," he gently reprimands, though his amusement is quite evident in his voice.

"Ah'm pissed off, deal with it," she snaps back, not bothering to look at him.

Her attention is on the next lackey who's foolish enough to come at her and she swings her guitar case at him. He's ready for it and grabs it, ripping it out of her hands, but he's not ready for the snap kick that catches him right in the groin. As he doubles over in pain, she steps up to him and drives her elbow into his back between his shoulder blades sending him down face first into the ground.

V smiles to himself, a bit proud of his reluctant pupil and he turns his attention back on the other men as he slides the first knife out of its sheath. In a move that's too fast for the eye to follow, he slashes the neck of the man closest to him. Before the body even starts to sink to the floor, V starts his dance of death that leaves the only one who can watch breathless.

Abigail watches in stunned amazement as the supposedly old man moves more gracefully than any human she's ever seen and with a speed that boggles the mind. She knew he wasn't normal the instant she had seen him running full out as if he was completely unencumbered even though her property was in his arms, but to watch him move freely now leaves her with only one resolve now. She must have him.

She quickly starts making plans in her head to capture him and after watching him kill with such proficiency, she has to concede that her men must back off before they're all dead. An angry scream rips through the air and a satisfied smirk stretches across Abigail's lips as she sees her men have finally gotten hold of the insolent little bitch who dared to talk back to her. However, her pleasure is short lived as the man who has the firmest grip on Audrey suddenly keels over backwards with a knife sticking out of the middle of his forehead.

She quickly looks over to the old man and sees that all of the men he had been fighting are now lying in pools of blood. Her brain temporarily freezes at the thought that in a matter of seconds this man was able to kill three of her best men, all of whom who had guns and a man that was about twenty feet away from him. Another shriek brings her back to reality and she sees her last two men have hold of her property and are using her as a shield as best they can considering the bitch is still fighting them.

"Bring her here, boys," Abigail purrs. "If you want to see that no harm comes to your..._granddaughter_, old man, then I suggest you drop your weapons and come along quietly."

"_The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him..."_ he starts to purr.

"Oh, fo' tha love o' little green apples!" Audrey snaps as she continues to squirm in the grip of Abigail's men. "Just kill 'em an' be done with it."

"A little respect for the classics, Audrey," he admonishes.

"Ta hell with tha classics," Audrey yells. "Either kill 'em or meh, but don't let meh go back to that life...please."

He hasn't heard her plead like that since the night they first met when she begged him to kill her before the Finger found her and the anger that lives within him boils up even higher than normal. He swiftly draws his arm back and lets the knife fly, in less than a heartbeat, it lands in its intended target before the man can shift his 'shield' into place. He goes down and Audrey wastes no time trying to break the other man's hold on her while he desperately tries to keep a grip on her, intent on keeping her between him and V.

"Hurry up, you fool!" Abigail commands. "Get her up here before he kills you!"

The man wildly looks around for a place to get back up onto the platform, preferably an easy way, but he sees none. His gaze turns back to the slowly approaching man who despite appearances, has managed to move with such speed and strength that he's killed five men in less than five minutes and he hasn't even broken into a sweat. He glances back up to Abigail before quickly looking back at the man who's stalking him like a two legged predator and he makes up his mind when he sees V casually twirl a knife in his hand.

He grabs the struggling woman as best he can and shoves her at V before running down the nearby dark tunnel as fast as he can. V easily catches Audrey and after making sure she's securely on her own two feet, he starts to go after the man. He only goes a few steps before the sound of a man screaming reaches them making the vigilante pause.

"Watcha wanna bet that he found another stun net?" Audrey asks while she looks around her feet.

"You are probably correct," he sighs as he slides the blade in his hand back into its hiding place. "We will have to proceed with caution."

"Or we could take a guide," she suggests while she picks up one of the dropped guns.

Before he can question her comment, she swings around, levels the weapon and squeezes off a round with a loud 'CRACK'. A small piece of mason and tile comes off of the wall near Abigail's head and the other woman stops her retreat, nearly jumping out of her fashionable high heels. She spins around and glares at Audrey in self-righteous indignation.

"Ok, _madam_, haul ya'lls surgically sculpted ass down here an' start marchin'," Audrey orders.

"How dare you!?" Abigail demands, completely affronted.

"Ya'd be amazed at what Ah'd dare ta do, ya old hag," Audrey scoffs. "Now move it!"

"And if I refuse?" Abigail asks as she crosses her arms over her perfectly shaped breasts.

"Than Ah'll shoot ya where ya'll stands," Audrey answers, staring the other woman in the eye leaving no doubt in the other woman's mind of her sincerity. "But Ah have ta warn ya, it's been about ten years since Ah've held a gun, so my aim's probably a bit rusty. Ah might just mortally wound ya instead of makin' a clean kill, so that ya'll just slowly bleed ta death instead o' dyin' quick like."

"You wouldn't dare," Abigail challenges and Audrey pulls the trigger again causing another chunk of tile and masonry to come off of the wall next to the well dressed woman.

"Care ta test that?" Audrey counters with a raised eyebrow. "Now move it."

"Make me," Abigail retorts with her arms crossed over her chest.

"With pleasure," a deep voice purrs just behind her ear.

Before Abigail can even let out a squawk of surprise, a pair of strong leather clad hands grab her upper arms, pinning them to her side. She suddenly finds herself being lifted off of the ground, carried across the platform and then dropped down onto the tracks all while kicking and screaming, but to no avail. She's unceremoniously set down on her feet and she stumbles a couple of steps before the heel of her shoe catches on something and she goes down with an undignified squeal.

"Those shoes have gotta go," Audrey announces, standing over the prone woman, the gun still trained on her.

"Have you got a spare pair for her to use?" he asks as he comes to stand next to Audrey.

"Ah have a spare pair o' shoes, but there's no way Ah'm lettin' her use 'em," Audrey states. "Think ya could modify tha ones she's wearin'?"

"How so?" he inquires, moving closer to the woman who's trying to crawl away from them.

"Break tha heels off," Audrey answers.

"Don't you dare!" Abigail shrieks as she staggers to her feet. "These shoes cost me nearly a hundred pounds!"

"Money ya got sellin' human bein's like they were cattle," Audrey snarls. "If ya wanna break ya'lls ankle, Ah don't care, but Ah've got a transport ta catch an' Ah have every intention on gettin' there on time, so ya better get a move on."

"No," Abigail huffs, her arms crossing over her chest again. "I refuse and if you shoot me, you will be right back where you started."

"It would be a shame if all the work your plastic surgeon did on your face was ruined," V softly growls as the flat of the blade of one of his knives slides down Abigail's perfect cheek, hard enough for her to feel the sharp edge, but not enough to break the skin.

"You would dare harm a lady!?" Abigail demands.

"You, _madam_, are no lady," he snarls as he towers over her.

Before she can voice any more objections, Abigail finds herself suddenly spun around and pushed forward. She immediately stumbles and falls thanks to the poor footwear and uneven ground, letting out an undignified shriek as she goes down. Before she can move an inch, her shoes are ripped off of her feet and the heels snapped off of them and she sits there with her jaw hanging open gaping up at the man in disbelief.

"How DARE you!" Abigail shrieks as her shoes are dropped back in her lap.

"Short o' streakin' through Trafalgar Square, Ah don't thank there's much he wouldn't dare," Audrey drawls as she returns to them after retrieving her bag and guitar case. "Ah suggest ya get a move on, Ah don't have all day."

"More guns?" he muses, idly gazing at the gun in her waistband while Abigail crosses her arms over her chest and refuses to move.

"Just one more," Audrey responds as she none to gently nudges Abigail with her foot. "Get a move on, ya old hag."

"I'm not moving," Abigail states in a huff.

"Since there's a snowball's chance in Hell that Ah'm about ta let ya go so ya'll can go an' get more men to try an' catch me, ya'll are comin' with us," Audrey tells her and then levels her weapon at the woman's head. "That's o' course if ya'll wanna live. At this range, there's no way Ah can miss and Ah can tell ya, ya'll's funeral won't be havin' an open casket. Just like ya'll's precious husband."

"How dare you," Abigail snarls.

"Come, there is no more time for this dilly dallying," V states as he reaches down and drags Abigail to her feet. "Now, you can put your shoes on or go without, but you will be coming with us."

Abigail goes to yank her arm free but discovers that she can't so much as budge him no matter how hard she tries. She tries to take a swing at him with her free hand and quickly finds it trapped in his iron like grasp. She really starts to struggle and attempts to kick him while she begins to scream at the top of her lungs, never really noticing that they're starting to move despite her temper tantrum.

By the time she runs out of steam and sags against the strong hands holding onto her, she realizes they're moving away from the train station. She attempts to break free again, but she doesn't have the strength to continue fighting for long. While her figure is slim, she has spent the past few decades running the stables and seeking her own pleasures, not training to fight off a crazed superman and an escaped slave.

"What should we do about him?" she hears the man ask and she finally takes a look around them.

"Leave 'im," Audrey replies and Abigail can see the man who had run away trapped under one of the stun nets. "There are alarms set on these thangs ta let tha handlers know that they've caught somethin'. Someone'll be along eventually ta see what they've got."

"And when they do, they'll come after you," Abigail growls as she attempts to pull away in hopes the man will have tired a bit. "I have the best trained men at my beck and call and you two don't stand a chance."

"Put a sock in it, ya old hag," Audrey snaps impatiently as she throws the modified shoes at Abigail and then eyes the net in front of her. "If we move tha net, they'll know we've been in here."

"Then what do you suggest?" he inquires with a tilt of his head as he loosens his hold on Abigail so that she can put her shoes on.

"We either go another way that could also be booby trapped or we try an' jump that thang," Audrey answers. "Either way, this is gonna be a major pain in tha ass."

"This is the most direct way of getting there," he tells her as he quickly calculates their chances of getting there on time.

"What about going street side?" Audrey suggests, adjusting her hold on her things. "Curfew isn't in effect for a couple more hours."

"I doubt our 'guest' would go quietly," he points out with a shake of his head. "It's best not to risk it."

"Ah guess ya're right," she sighs as she stares at the dilemma before them. "So what do ya suggest we do?"

He doesn't answer, but instead moves closer to the net, carefully examining it. He paces it's length only once before returning to the women and finds Audrey pinning Abigail to the ground so she can force the shoes onto the older woman's feet. He doesn't question it, but instead points towards an end of the net farthest from them.

"We'll jump over the net there," he instructs, pointing as Audrey gets up and then he pulls Abigail to her feet. "I want you to go first, then our 'guest' and then I will go last."

"I'm not jumping over anything," Abigail huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin in defiance.

"That will not be a problem," he purrs dangerously and Audrey smirks as she chuckles to herself. "I'm beginning to think you're enjoying this a tad too much, Audrey."

"This from tha man who talked meh inta helpin' him make poison quiches for one o' a Percy's partays?" Audrey snorts.

"Touche´," he replies with a nod as he reaches for Abigail.

"You two were responsible for that food poisoning disaster?" Abigail hisses as she jerks out of his reach. "Do you have any idea the mess you made? How many contacts we lost because of those damn quiches?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replies, his delight very evident in his voice.

"Why you...," Abigail snarls as she launches herself at him, her fingers curled like talons.

He catches her before she can even blink and then easily drags the kicking and screaming woman over to where Audrey is waiting. Audrey just rolls her eyes and shakes her head before taking a running leap over the net, easily clearing it. She turns and watches as he lifts Abigail up and heaves her over the net as if she weighs no more than a rag doll.

No sooner does Abigail have her feet under her then she makes a break for it. Unfortunately for her, Audrey's waiting for her to try something stupid and reaches out and grabs the other woman by her carefully coiffed hair. Abigail shrieks in pain and outrage as she's dragged back several steps and the only reason she doesn't go down on her arse is because of Audrey's hold on her tresses.

"You'll pay for that, slave," Abigail growls after Audrey finally releases her.

"That reminds meh," Audrey muses as she starts to frisk Abigail's pockets.

"Get your hands off of me, you little hussy!" Abigail yells as she tries to swat Audrey's hands away, only to be stopped by V.

"That's pretty rich comin' from a woman who usually wears a leather bustier, spiked heel thigh high boots an' carries around a ridin' crop," Audrey chuckles as she sticks her hand into one of Abigail's pockets. "Ah, there it is."

"How did you know...?" Abigail sputters until she sees what Audrey has in her hands. "Give that back!"

"Just as soon as Ah'm done with it," Audrey assures her as she walks away and opens the copy of her ownership papers up. "Well what do ya know, these actually are for meh. Oops!"

Audrey 'accidentally' allows the papers to slip through her fingers and casually watches them as they land right on the still sparking stun net. Within moments, an arc of electricity hits the papers causing them to go up in flames and with a smirk firmly planted on her face, Audrey turns to look at Abigail. The look on Abigail's face is priceless as shock and anger wage war on her face for several seconds before anger wins.

With a shriek of outrage, Abigail launches herself at Audrey only to be brought up short by V's hand grabbing the back of her jacket. Abigail fights for all she's worth until she feels a knife pressed against her throat and sees the gun aimed right between her eyes. She stands perfectly still, breathing heavily and glaring at Audrey for several long moments until the other woman slowly lowers her weapon and then walks past, not bothering to spare her another glance.

* * *

**Author's Notes 2: ** A bit of a strange place to leave it, but this was getting a bit long. As always, please leave a review.


	29. Cadence

**Author's Notes:** ERG! I'm so sorry for the long wait. Real life can _really_ suck sometimes. At any rate, we're nearing the final stages of the story and it will hopefully be wrapped up in a few more chapters.

* * *

The hand gripping the back of her neck is like a vise and no matter how hard she's tried to break free of it, the hold has held true. She knows that they're coming upon another net soon and as much as she hates the idea of being caught in it, if it gets her her property back and an extremely fit male in the bargain, she's willing to go through it. She can barely make out the box that generates the trip laser and she smirks to herself as thoughts of proper punishment for the insolent little bitch drift through her mind.

"There's another trap ahead," the man states.

Shocked, she tries to turn and look at him only to have his fingers tighten their hold on her causing her to gasp in pain.

"How do ya'll wanna get past it?" Audrey asks as they come to a stop not too far away from the laser, but far enough away that Abigail can't set it off. "Ah know ya'll can probably just about fly over tha thang an' Ah can easily step over it, but knowin' her, she'll probably try ta set tha damn thang off."

"That shall not be a problem," he assures the younger woman.

Before she can react, Abigail finds herself spun around and facing the man. With her equilibrium thrown off from being spun around so fast, she doesn't have a chance to even take a step for freedom. He roughly grabs her and flings her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper. After getting over the shock of being manhandled, she starts screaming, kicking and hitting for all she's worth.

"Right noisy thang, ain't she?" Audrey muses as soon as they're both safely past the trap.

"She is quite vocal," he agrees as he sets a brisk pace. "Do you really think it was wise to have brought her along? I'm sure we could have gotten past the traps without her."

"It was that or use her fo' target practice," Audrey responds with a shrug.

"Would you really have shot her?" he inquires, barely noticing that Abigail has run out of steam again.

"If it came down ta her life or my freedom, Ah would have," Audrey tells him flatly. "Ah couldn't chance her goin' an' gettin' help. Ah can't go back ta that life an' Ah sooner put a bullet through my own brain than go through that again."

"I understand," he softly tells her as he drops Abigail back onto her feet.

"Ah thought ya would," she replies quietly as she sadly looks up at him.

Abigail attempts to make a break for it but quickly finds herself spun back around and the hand is once more painfully clinching her neck.

* * *

It seems like they've been walking for days and she hurts everywhere, especially her feet and her neck. She can feel the blisters on her feet and she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she was bleeding at this point. However, that discomfort is nothing compared to agony of her neck being held in his vice like grip and some small part of her brain wonders how he can keep up that hold for so long.

While them ruining her designer shoes and being so disrespectful towards her is upsetting enough, the fact that they've gotten past every single trap so far has really got her fuming. She knows where the traps are, but she can't seem to figure out how they keep seeing the trips long before they get to them. They're very well hidden and the natural gloom of this place should be enough to make them impossible to see, but they still have bypassed each of the snares waiting for them.

There aren't very many traps left and they're nearly upon one now, which for some reason they haven't spotted yet. She quietly gloats as she gets ready to be hit with the net and the man holding her stops just inches short of the trip. Before she can kick her foot out and set it off, he yanks her back behind him.

"Another net?" Audrey asks as she stops next to him.

"Yes, she mustn't have be paying attention," he replies, looking down at the red haired woman. "She didn't let me know that we were getting closer until we were nearly caught. The trip is only a step away."

"What do you mean I've been letting you know?" Abigail demands, trying to turn and look at him. "I haven't said anything to you."

"While your voice has remained still, you body has spoken volumes," he purrs maliciously near her ear. "You tense every time we near a trap."

"How much farther do we need ta go?" Audrey inquires.

"The station up ahead is our exit," he tells her as he easily lifts Abigail up and steps over the trip. "Are you ready?"

"Yes an' no," Audrey responds and he does that oh so familiar head tilt. "Ah'm more than ready ta get outta here, but whatta Ah do once Ah'm back in North America? Ah have no family that Ah know of an' Ah have no money."

"While I cannot help you with your family situation, I believe I can help you with your monetary needs," he says as she carefully steps over the invisible beam of light.

"How so?" Audrey questions, looking up at him and he swings Abigail around to face her. "Whatta am Ah supposed ta do with her?"

"They are quite lovely, aren't they?" he inquires as he gently strokes a finger over the multiple strands of pearls around Abigail's neck.

"Don't you dare!" Abigail shrieks and then starts trying to kick her foot through the laser.

Before she can even blink, she's spun around, forced down onto her knees and her hands are pinned behind her back. She continues to struggle even though she can feel some of the broken bits from the crumbling walls and ceiling beneath her are cutting their way through her clothes and into her flesh. She tries to throw her weight forward in order to break his hold while she starts screaming again despite her already raw throat until a hand grabs the hair on top of her head and forces her head back, exposing her throat.

"Maddin', ain't it?" Audrey asks, getting right into the other woman's face. "Bein' helpless an' not bein' able ta fight back."

"You'll pay for this, you little bitch," Abigail hisses, trembling with rage.

"That's what Ah thought at tha beginnin'," Audrey calmly tells her as she reaches out to unfasten the necklace. "Ah remember what it was like bein' so angry an' frustrated after they caught meh, waitin' fo' tha calvary ta come an' rescue meh an' then those miserable bastards would get their just desserts. But they didn't come an' Ah was left feelin' helpless an' alone. The day they stuffed meh in a box an' shipped meh ta another country was tha day all hope died in my life. Be glad that ya'll will never have ta go through that, unlike meh or any o' tha other human bein's lives ya'll helped ruin."

By the time Audrey's done talking, her hands are filled to over flowing with multiple strands of pearls and the sizable diamond and pearl earrings. V lets go of Abigail's hair and then brings her arms around the front of her body while Audrey sets down the precious bundle in her hands. Abigail starts to fight again, but it's like fighting against a brick wall.

When she sees Audrey going for the jewels on her hands, she balls her hands into fists and glares at the other woman. Non-plussed, Audrey simply removes the bracelets around the woman's wrists while V exerts enough pressure to cut off the blood supply to the woman's hands. Despite her struggles to break his hold on her arms, her fingers soon go numb and the rings are easily slipped off of her nerveless hands.

"That's my wedding ring!" Abigail shrieks while Audrey starts to carefully store the jewelery in her bag. "And the earrings were an anniversary present."

"Whadda ya need 'em fo'?" Audrey asks, not bothering to look at the other woman as she continues putting the items away. "Ya're not married any more an' it's not like ya'll were tha poster child o' fidelity anyways. O' course, neither was ya'll's precious husband from what Ah understand."

"You little bitch," Abigail snarls as she's roughly dragged to her feet.

"Flattery'll get ya nowhere," Audrey replies while she closes her bag, slings it back over her shoulder and then looks over at V. "Ah'm ready."

"Good," he replies with a nod before turning his attention to Abigail. "Are there any more traps between here and the station?"

"Like I'm going to tell you," Abigail sneers and then gasps in shock as his hand suddenly grabs her throat.

"I have noticed that there is always a trap before and a trap after a station," he purrs dangerously as his fingers tighten around her neck and she starts trying to struggle out of his grip. "The next station is only a hundred yards away, so there are no more between here and there. Am I right?"

"Yes," she whispers, barely able to get that out because of her constricted air passage.

"Then you have out lived your usefulness now haven't you?" he asks pleasantly and Abigail's eyes get very large as she finally realizes how much danger she's in.

With a movement that looks like he's just pushing a free swinging door open, V shoves Abigail back towards the snare. Unable to stop her backwards motion, she pinwheels her arms and shrieks loudly as she stumbles towards the laser trip wire. V casually reaches out, takes a hold of Audrey's arm and steps a few paces back to make sure they're out of range of the net as it hits the ground. Abigail's screams of pain are short lived and the echoes quickly fade away as she passes out from the electric shock. Audrey stares at the scene in front of her in stunned silence with her heart pounding against her ribs, to flabbergasted to string two words together at that moment.

"Have ya'll gone plum loco, V?" she demands as soon as she's over the shock, turning on him in anger. "Now her men'll know we're here!"

"Correction," he replies, sounding rather amused. "They know where we used to be."

Before she can draw a breath to ask him what he's talking about, he swings her up into his arms and starts to run back the way they came, easily clearing the net when he reaches it. Know that there's no point in fighting him, she holds onto him as best she can as he dashes through the dark tunnel. A short time later, he slows to a stop and she looks around at the new location, yet another abandoned train station.

"Where are we?" she asks while he sets her back down on her feet.

"West India Quay," he answers as he makes his way over to the platform. "Abigail's men will find her at Canary Wharf, a rather unsavory part of town filled with all manner of ruffians."

"So, what was tha point o' leavin' her there while we back tracked ta here?" she questions while he easily climbs up onto the raised area and then leans down for her hand.

"To send her and her men on a wild goose chase," he replies, easily hauling her up to his level. "By the time they realize that we're nowhere around there, you'll be safely on your way and I'll be back in the Shadow Gallery enjoying a nice cup of tea."

"Ya sound right sure o' yaself, don't ya?" she chuckles as they start to head for the stairs.

"I suppose I do," he responds with a rare smile. "We are coming close to the surface now. It is time to become mute once more."

She nods her understanding and they continue the rest of the way in silence. They slip through a side door that leads to an alley that's darkened by tall buildings, an over cast sky and a rapidly sinking sun. They have only minor difficulties getting past the barricaded door because of her guitar case, but as soon as they're clear, they head over to a dark alcove where a large wooden box waits for them.

She stops and stares at it, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. A part of her is thrilled to be finally getting out of there but a more primal part of her is scared to death to be leaving in almost the same exact way she was shipped there. He waits patiently for her to steel her nerves and step up to the crate he made himself.

Once she's ready, he helps her into the padded box and then assists her in arranging herself and her belongings in as comfortably as possible. As soon as she's in, he retrieves the lid to the crate and a hammer from a nearby hiding place. When he returns, he sees her watching for him with worried eyes and he tries to give her a reassuring smile, though it comes out more as a grimace with all of the latex on his face.

"Now remember, if you need to get out, a solid kick will knock out the boards at the end," he quietly reminds her and she nods her understanding. "I wish you safe journey, Audrey, and good luck with your new life."

She gives him a small smile as she waves goodbye to him. Before he can move the lid in place, she places her finger tips on her chin before dropping her hand down, palm up and mouthing 'thank you' to him.

"You are most welcome," he replies as he lifts the cover in place.

In short order the nails are hammered into place and he tosses the hammer off to the side, it's usefulness gone. He carefully checks over the box over to make sure that the spaces between the planks are unobstructed thus letting air in. Once he's satisfied that there's air getting in, he grabs a hold of the handles and lifts the crate up without so much as a grunt.

He carries his burden off into the night, knowing that soon, she won't be the only one who he will be setting free.

* * *

V watches as the ship carrying a special crate slips out of sight and into the night. A good deal of money was slipped to just the right people to insure that Audrey's box was placed in an area with good air circulation and nothing placed on top of it. With a nod of a job well done, he turns and makes his way back home.

On the way back to the tunnels, he notices off in the distance, Abigail Percy, looking much the worse for wear, yelling at the men she's hired to capture Audrey. He allows a self satisfied smirk to creep across his lips, knowing that Audrey is safely out of reach and turns to head back home. Abigail's voice reaches a higher octave and goes up a few decibels causing V to look back over his shoulder at the woman.

He chuckles to himself as the hired hands walk off, some of them throwing a few choice insults at the woman for wasting their time. She stands there, alone on the docks with a stunned look on her face at the retreating backs for several moments. Once she's over the shock, she stomps her foot like a petulant child and the goes storming off in the opposite direction as the men.

He watches for a few seconds more and then proceeds towards the tunnels and eventually home.

* * *

A few hours later, V shuts the door to the Shadow Gallery, content with the knowledge that all of the nets between his home and the docks have been dismantled. He mentally makes a check list of things he'll need to find any more of the snares, deactivate them and then bring back any useful parts that he might salvage out of them. He walks into the center of his home, lost in thought for a moment and then he stops.

He stands perfectly still, barely breathing and listening to the absolute silence that now reigns supreme in the Gallery once more. There are no grunts coming from the workout room as she pummels the punching bag, there are no sounds of dinner being made coming from the kitchen and no sound of a computer mouse being clicked or a keyboard clacking away coming from the art storage room. But most notably of all, there is no music.

She's not humming to herself as she does the dishes or quietly singing as she bakes something delectable or strumming her guitar in a rare moment of her sitting still long enough to pick the instrument up. The silence is nearly deafening as it fills up every nook and cranny and he finds it almost overwhelming. With a few long strides he is standing next to the jukebox and randomly pressing buttons.

"There are no coincidences, only the illusion of it," he chuckles when he recognizes the first few notes of a guitar playing.

With a smile firmly planted on his lips, he heads towards the dressing room as the male duo start to sing.

_Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence..._

* * *

"Morning, Dom," Chief Inspector Finch greets as he enters the office.

"Morning, Chief," Dominic replies while he picks up a folder off of his desk and holds it out to his boss. "The coroner sent this up a little while ago."

"What is it?" Finch asks as he shrugs out of his coat.

"It seems a Jane Doe was brought in yesterday," Dominic tells him, handing the folder over to his superior. "She was found down near the docks, robbed, raped, beaten and then stabbed to death."

"So, who was it?" Finch inquires as he opens up the item in his hands.

"Abigail Percy," Dominic answers and Finch stares at him in shock.

"I thought she was in jail," Finch states forcefully when he recovers as he drops down into his seat.

"Got out on bail a couple of weeks ago," Dominic responds as he leans back in his chair. "Seems her lawyer was able to sweet talk the judge into lowering the bail."

"Bribe is more like it," Finch growls, looking down at the file in front of him.

Finch shakes his head as he starts to go through the file, even carefully examining the grizzly pictures taken of the crime scene and the corpse while Dominic goes back to reading another report. He's a little puzzled by the bruises on Abigail's neck and reads a bit further into the report.

"This is curious," Finch says, drawing Dominic's attention back to him.

"What is?" Dominic asks.

"The bruises on her neck," Finch replies, handing a picture taken by the coroner over to Dominic. "According to Delia the bruising was caused by someone gripping the back of her neck very tightly for at least an hour and it was done a couple of hours before she was beaten to a pulp."

"So what was she doing down at the docks?" Dominic muses after perusing the photo for a few moments.

"I'm not sure," Finch replies as he brings up the report written up by the investigating policeman. "Perhaps she was looking for something."

"Like a missing piece of...'property'?" Dominic suggests.

"Could be," Finch agrees with a nod.

"Guess Audrey wasn't joking when she said that The Man would kill to protect her," Dominic implies.

"Maybe, maybe not," Finch responds. "The report says that they can't get a consistent DNA sample of the rapist indicating that there was more than one. The Man may be a killer, but I don't think he raped her or beat her."

"Then who did?" Dominic questions.

"Probably some thugs," Finch answers with a shrug. "We'll probably never know what really happened."

"Think Audrey got away?" Dominic inquires several silent seconds later.

"I hope so, Dom, I certainly hope so," Finch answers, wishing with every inch of his being that it's true.

* * *

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own the rights to Simon and Garfunkel's _Sounds of Silence._


	30. Cavatina

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delay, but my muse decided that she needed to work on my X-Men story for while. At any rate, Audrey's troubles aren't over yet, so here we go. Thanks to my reviewers for their kind words.

* * *

He hums along with the music in the background as he puts the finishing touches on the firing tubes for the fireworks he has planned. It'll be a glorious sight when that impostor that stands in the place of lady justice gets blown sky high and he silently thanks his long departed house guest for the suggestion of the music that will accompany his plan. His thoughts idly turn to Audrey and he smiles to himself, content in knowing that she should be walking on North American soil by now.

* * *

She lets out a sigh as she looks out over the railing, barely noticing the dolphins frolicking in the wake made by the ship while the freezing wind tries to rip her knitted cap from her head. V tried to train her to deal with the tossing and pitching of the ship's deck but did nothing to prepare her for the bitter cold. She closes up her pea coat a little tighter and attempts not shiver as the wind dries out her skin and steals her breath away.

She thinks about the strange man who saved her life, giving her this chance for freedom and she wonders if it was all for naught. She looks out at the horizon towards the setting sun in hopes that maybe, just maybe, the ship she's been waiting for is coming, but once again she's met with disappointment. She stares down into the icy waters of the North Atlantic Ocean thinking about all of the worry that's been eating her inside for the past week and small part of her wonders what would happen if she just jumped overboard.

"There ya are, love," the all too cheerful voice of the first mate says behind her. "The captain's been lookin' for ya."

She looks back over her shoulder at him and feels her stomach do a flip-flop. After all of these years of being alone, why does she have to find someone she's attracted to now? As much as she would love to be able to let him into her life, she's too close to finally having her freedom to take the chance. She's kept him at arm's length for the past few weeks that they've been out here, but it's done her very little good if her initial reaction of wanting to slip into his arms is anything to go by. She squashes down her feelings and points up to the pilot house while looking into those incredible blue eyes of his.

"He's in his office," he tells her and she smiles her thanks to him.

She quickly moves past him, resisting the urge to breathe in his cologne and heads below deck. A minute later she's standing outside the captain's office and she can hear the yelling going on on the other side of the door. She recognizes the voice of the engineer having a few choice words with the captain and for a change she's not the subject of this verbal sparring match.

"I'm telling you that we're going to be damn lucky to make it back to port!" the engineer shouts. "I've been telling you that for the past three days! Why the hell haven't you been listening to me!?"

"All right, Sean, I'll take care of it," the captain calmly replies. "See what you can do to keep her going."

"Why the hell should I bother, Paul?" Sean snarls back.

"Because there'll be a nice bonus in your check if we make it back to port before the catch goes south," Paul assures him.

She hears a bit of grumbling from Sean and she manages to move out of the way just as the door is forcefully opened. Sean steps out into the narrow hallway, spots her and then gives her a hard glare for several seconds. She doesn't back down and stares right back at him.

She didn't spend six months of her life living with a crazy person to be frightened or intimidated by this jerk. After several seconds, he turns on his heel and marches away, returning to the dark hole he crawled out from. She gives a sigh of relief as the muscles in her neck and shoulders start to relax and then she remembers what she overheard. She quickly steps up to the open portal and gently knocks on the door.

"Ah, Audrey, just the lass I wanted to see," Paul greets as he hangs up the phone that connects him to the pilot house. "Please come in."

She steps into the room with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and closes the door behind her. She pulls out her small pad of paper and pencil out of her pocket and starts writing before she even makes it to the desk. When she finally looks at the man across from her, he doesn't meet her eyes and she holds her pad up for him to read.

_We're heading back._

"I'm afraid so," he softly replies and she starts writing again.

_I can't go back._

"Well, unless you intend to swim the rest of the way to Canada, you're going to have to," he tells her, keeping his voice down so he can't be heard by anyone wandering past his door.

_I'll take my chances,_ she writes back.

"Be reasonable," he quietly growls. "I've been putting my neck out for you ever since I agreed to take you on board. We should have started heading back five days ago, but instead we've been hanging out here waiting for your pick up."

_Where are they?_

"I don't know," he sighs in defeat and she can feel the ship starting to turn. "I've been calling them, but I haven't gotten a response. If they haven't shown up by now, I doubt they ever will."

_If I go back, I'm dead._

"I'll keep you on board," he tells her as her heart starts to beat faster. "There's no reason for you to leave the ship. After all, someone has to stay on board and the authorities have never had a reason to search the ship before."

_Until now._

"You'll be fine," he assures her. "The man who paid me to take you will be paying even more once you're safely across The Pond. I'll finally be able to get this old crate refitted and the engine properly fixed. I'll take care of you. You'll be fine."

_Unless someone talks._

"Who's going to talk?" he asks. "My men are trustworthy. Besides, they all think you're a legitimate hire."

_Sean hates me._

"Sean hates everyone," he scoffs. "You're his latest target because you're new."

_And I'm a woman._

"Did you really slap him across the face the first day out at sea?" he questions in disbelief.

_He grabbed my breast._

"I'm surprised you didn't kick in the privates," he chuckles.

_No room in the hall._

He laughs out loud but quickly sobers when he sees the look on her face.

"It's going to be all right, Audrey," he says.

She doesn't answer him, just stares listlessly at the pad of paper and pencil in her hands, unable to give them the strength to work. She can feel her stomach tying itself up in knots, her heart pounding against her ribs and the sting of tears in her eyes, but she can do nothing to stop them as hope leaves her. She closes her eyes as she seeks to control her fears and she can hear Paul leave his seat.

"I promise I'll get you home," he says as he lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're just going to have to hang in there a little bit longer. Ok?"

_I have a choice?_

"No, I guess not," he sighs. "But it's the best I can offer you right now."

She sighs herself and then gets up to leave.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asks.

_I'll live. For now anyways._

Before he can respond to that, she's out the door and he's about to go after her again when the first mate shows up in his door.

"What can I do for you, Tom?" Paul questions.

"I've cast the net," Tom reports, looking back over his shoulder.

"Ok, thank you," Paul replies as he goes to sit back down.

"Is she ok?" Tom asks, concern tingeing his words. "She looked like someone just told her her dog had run away."

"I'm not sure," Paul responds. "Do me a favor, try and keep an eye on her."

"Sure thing," Tom agrees.

"Thanks, Tom," Paul says as he starts to go through the paperwork on his desk.

"Not a problem," Tom replies as he disappears down the hall, intent on carrying out the request right away.

* * *

"Incoming!" someone yells over the howling wind.

They brace themselves as best they can and a second later another wave washes over the side, drenching everyone on deck. She quickly blinks the salt water off of her eyes, her face already too numb to feel the biting cold as she makes a grab for their latest catch. She easily shifts her weight as the ship dips down into the well before the next wave, barely managing to miss getting whacked by the blue fin tuna that's just landed on the deck in front of her.

One look is all she needs to know that this one is too small and will have be tossed back in. Without waiting for anyone else, she grabs the fish by the tail in one hand, under the gills with the other and hefts the struggling animal up. Another wave slams into the side of the ship just as she throws the fish back into the ocean and she gets hit head on with a wall of water, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She can feel her feet leave the deck as the ship dips down violently and she knows that she's about to die.

At first she panics as she starts to go over the side and then that calm part of her that learned to accept death takes over. She briefly wonders what Canada would have been like and how well she would have adjusted to a life where she belongs to herself. She then contemplates if she'll die from the fall over the side of the ship or if she'll just freeze to death in the icy waters.

The small part of her that still wants to live makes her grab for the railing just as she starts to go over it. However, a combination of the slick railing, wet gloves and her nearly numb fingers means that it's hopeless and she closes her eyes, not wanting to really see what fate has in store for her. The irony of having survived so much at the hands of humans only to lose her life to the sea is not lost on her.

Suddenly, someone grabs the hood of her slicker and yanks her back towards the ship. She can hear the material tearing as the front of her rain jacket slams into her throat, cutting off her air passage. She claws at her neck just as she's slammed down onto the deck, knocking what little air was left in her lungs out of them.

She's too stunned from being knocked around to notice what's going on and its not until she's being set down on the bench next to the table in the galley does her brain start to register what's going on. Tom is fussing over her, talking to her and trying to get her to respond as his face swims in and out of focus. It takes her several moments before she can start to understand what he's saying and by then she's also becoming aware of her body.

"Audrey, are ya alright?" he asks worriedly as she tries to draw a deep breath and winces at the pain in her throat. "Can ya understand me?"

She nods weakly at him as she tries reach up to rub her neck only to find that he's got hold of her hands. She looks down at them dumbly, trying to figure out why he's holding them. That's when she realizes she's shivering, her teeth are chattering and she's soaking wet.

"Ok, good," he responds as he vigorously rubs his hands over hers and she can hear the fear in his voice. "You're lookin' at me, that's a good start."

She gives him a small smile just as Paul comes in and she can see he's sopping wet too.

"Is she all right?" Paul asks.

"I think she'll be ok, but she needs to get warmed up," Tom answers. "I was about to take her back to her quarters and get her to change into dry clothes."

"Good," Paul replies with a sigh and she looks at him before casting her gaze at the door. "Don't worry, lass, the catch is in. We'll wait out this squall before casting the net again. Just go get warmed up now. You won't be doing anyone any good if you freeze yourself half to death."

She gives him a funny look before trying to stand up, only to find that her legs don't really want to obey her commands. Tom wastes no time getting his arm around her waist and helping her to her feet. She tries not to lean on him, but it's like her body turns traitor and her head drops onto his shoulder of its own accord.

She's so very cold and tired and all she wants to do is go to sleep. She's starting to go numb and hardly notices when Tom holds her tighter. She's not even aware of her eyes shutting so she never sees the worried look on Paul's face.

"See if you can get her into a hot shower," Paul instructs and Tom nods as he half carries, half drags her out of the room.

The next time she opens her eyes, she's standing in her tiny shower wearing just her long johns. The hot water pours over her and she tries to figure out how she got there. She finally notices that there's a hand that has a tight hold of her arm and she looks over at the owner of the arm.

"Are you alright now?" Tom asks, concern etched across his face. "Do ya think ya can stand on your own?"

She nods and he carefully releases her arm, staying close just in case she's mistaken.

"Alright then," he sighs in relief as he heads for the door. "I'm going to go get dried off. Ya might want to get the rest of you're clothes off before comin' out. I'll come back and check on ya in a bit, love."

By the time his words completely sink into her half frozen brain, he's gone, shutting the door behind him. With some difficulty, she manages to strip the last of her clothes off, glad that he was gentleman enough not to strip her bare. After washing herself as quickly as she can, she stumbles out of the shower, not sure if its her or the ship that's causing her lack coordination.

Despite the shower, she still feels cold right down to her core, so she dries off as quickly as she can. She leaves the warm and steamy bathroom and dashes for the chest of drawers with her clothing is kept, trying not to let her teeth chatter as she pulls her clothes out. Her trembling fingers make it hard to get dressed and it takes her a lot longer than normal to at least get the first couple of layers of clothes on.

She's just about to put her flannel shirt on over the other layers of clothing when there's a quiet knock at the door. Knowing that she doesn't so much as dare to squeak, she goes to the door and opens it a crack.

"Ah, good, you're out," Tom states happily and she nods as she opens the door for him. "You're lookin' a lot better, love. I've gotta tell ya, blue really isn't you're color."

She smiles over her shoulder at him and he grins in response as he follows her into the tiny cabin. He watches her as she shrugs her shirt on and starts to button it up. He sees she's having problems with her fingers still shaking and goes to help her, stopping dead when he sees the growing bruise across the base of her throat.

"Was that caused by me grabbing your slicker?" he asks as he gently traces a finger over the sensitive skin and she nods while her heart starts beating double time. "I'm really sorry about that."

She grabs a pad of paper and a pencil off of the dresser and quickly starts to write, hoping that the reason her hands are shaking is because she's still cold, but knowing it's not.

_Better then swimming with the fishes._

"I guess so," he softly chuckles as he moves closer and she's fairly sure her heart is going to leap right out of her chest. "I've gotta tell ya, love, when I saw ya get hit by that wave, I just about had a heart attack."

_Thank you for saving me._

"Trust me, love, the pleasure was all mine," he quietly tells her as his hand comes up and gently caresses her cheek. "If you had gone over, I would have never been able to do this."

Before she can even think to write anything, his lips are on hers and the pad and pencil slip out of nerveless fingers. He slips his arm around her waist while the other hand cradles the back of her head and it takes every ounce of willpower for her not to moan. She knows this can't continue, so she places the flat of her hands on his chest to push him away and he deepens the kiss making it even harder for her to think clearly.

Her fickle fingers instinctively curl up, grabbing several layers of clothing as the world shrinks down to just the two of them and that's when a explosion rocks the entire ship.


	31. Capriccio

**Author's Notes: ** My sincere apologies for taking so long with this update. I swear my muse has gone completely insane. However, I was able to squeeze this chapter out of her finally. I know it's a little Audrey heavy, but I do try to keep V in it as best I can and it's longer than the other chapters. Thanks for reading and please leave a review when you're done.

* * *

He happily hums to himself as he passes the blade of his knife over the whetting stone. The ring of the metal as it's sharpened to razor sharpness is music to his ears. He checks the edge of the knife in his hand carefully before gently setting it down and picking up the next one.

A smile stretches his lips as he thinks of all of his preparations. His boots are polished to shine, his wig is combed out and the sound system has already been hacked into. The bombs and fireworks are ready to be put in place, his new outfit is nearly done and he is almost done sharpening the blades before him. In a little over a weeks time all of England and eventually the world will know that V exists.

His stomach grumbles and he looks up at the clock. It is nearing dinner time and for a brief moment, he misses the company he used to have. Her cooking was always such a delight and while he silently loathes to admit it, he did enjoy having someone to talk to from time to time. Mondego and the bust of The Bard are great listeners, but horrible conversationalists.

He pauses for a moment as he wonders what she's doing now. A small niggling thought at the back of his mind reminds him that he hasn't heard back from his contact letting him know that she's arrived safely back in North America. With one last slide of the blade over the stone, he pushes that worry away knowing there's nothing he can do about it now. He places the last knife next to its brothers before cleaning up his work and going in search of food.

* * *

Exhausted and dirty, she drops down onto the bench by the table in the dining area and then scoots over as far as she can to make room for the next person. Soon there's a warm body pressing in on either side of her and she's not really caring that her personal space is being violated. She knows the men aren't in any better shape then she is and in a few cases, a few of them are worse off. When Paul and Tom walk into the room, she barely has the energy to look up at them.

"Ok, the good news is that the hull appears to be intact and we're not taking on any water," Paul states without preamble. "The bad news is that the engine is shot and we're dead in the water."

"Which I warned you would happen," Sean snarls from his end of the table, his arm in a sling and a bandage wrapped around his head.

"I've sent out an SOS which hopefully will be answered within the next few days," Paul continues as if Sean hadn't spoken. "We're not that far from Canada, so with a bit of good luck, they'll send someone out to help us."

"If you had listened to me, we wouldn't have needed to send out an SOS in the first place," Sean snaps, glaring at the other man.

"We would have had to turn around a week before ya started you're yammerin' to have made it back in time," Tom shoots back, a smear of black soot across his forehead and one cheek.

"Alright, that's enough," Paul states firmly as he steps between the two men. "Yelling at each other isn't going to change our situation. Without the engine, we're running on generators and battery power, neither of which will last very long. Our main concern is food and water. As long as the batteries hold out, we'll be able to keep the icebox going and there's plenty of fish in the cargo holds. Water, on the other hand, is another story. I just checked the tanks and we're about half full. Since we don't know how long we're going to be out here, we're going to have to have a few rules."

"Here it comes," Sean huffs, but no one pays him any mind.

"Water is to be used for drinking, cooking and necessary cleaning like the dishes and hands," Paul says. "Flush the john only when necessary; no showers and if you really need to get some of the grime off, take a sponge bath."

There's some minor grumbling from the crew, but no outright protests. She frowns as a thought occurs to her and she gets her paper and pencil out.

_How do we cook once the batteries fail?_

"We have a couple generators that we can use to turn things on as we need them," Paul answers. "But they're noisy and getting more fuel for them will require siphoning the gas tanks. Not something I'm looking forward to."

"Without the engine to run the heaters, how are we going to stay warm?" one of the other hands asks. "It gets bloody cold at night."

"Bundle up, wear as many layers as you can," Paul replies. "Wear your shoes and your jacket to bed if you have to. Keep the doors to rooms closed at all times. This'll help keep the heat in the rooms. I know things don't look too good right now, but I'm sure help will be coming soon. We just need to tough it out for a few days."

"Or we could find someone to cuddle up with at night," Sean suggests.

He openly leers at Audrey and she starts to write quickly while Tom's hands begin to curl into fists. She holds the pad up a few moments later and the men sitting near Sean start busting up while Sean himself turns an incredible shade of red and scowls at her. Tom turns the pad so he can read it and then chuckles.

_Only if you want to be a eunuch by morning._

His fingers gently grazing against hers before he lets go and she manages not to gasp at his touch, but can do nothing to stop the delightful shiver that runs down her spine. She refuses to look at him as her body screams to be held and she never sees the narrowed eyes of the suspicious engineer.

"As long as the other person is willing, I see no problem with sharing body heat," Paul states while the rest of the men snicker when they get to see Audrey's note. "Just make sure that's all your sharing. The walls in this place aren't _that_ thick and there are no engines to drown out any unusual noises."

There's some uncomfortable squirming around and a couple well placed elbows and glares reminds her neighbors that while she's willing to share body heat, she's not willing to be squished. Things settle down a few moments later and Paul continues with the rules of maintaining the ship while they wait for help to arrive. Audrey listens with only half an ear as her heart pounds with renewed hope that it will be a Canadian ship that finds them and all the work she and V went through will finally pay off.

* * *

The scowl on his face belies the jovial look of the Guy Fawkes mask he wears as V stares at his computer screen. Not only has his contact in Scotland been conspicuously silent, but a check of port records shows that the Victory has yet to return home. To add to his displeasure, he has finally gotten hold of the captain of the Viceroy and has found out that the ship never left Quebec due to the captain only just getting out of hospital.

While even he could not have predicted the Viceroy's captain having appendicitis, he is not pleased by this turn of events. A variety of scenarios play out in his head as one question after another cross his mind.

Where is the Victory is now? Were they able to meet up with another Canadian ship that was willing to take Audrey on? Even if they weren't able to find a Canadian ship to take her, why haven't they returned yet?

But the most troublesome question for him that has him quietly seething is the one he likes the least. Was he wrong?

He knows that there was no other way to get her safely out of the country. The train that was used to bring her into the country was closed down years ago and as he told her, flying out would have been impossible. But he still wonders, was he wrong?

The frustration of being unable to do anything has him ready to kill someone...literally. Knowing that with only a week until the country knows of his existence, he dares not venture street side and be spotted. Left with no other option really, he heads towards his play room in hopes of venting off some of this anger. But he knows that no matter how long he takes his feelings out on his practice dummies, he will be wondering in the back of his mind, was he wrong?

* * *

For several days they've floated adrift in the North Atlantic with no sign or word that anyone has heard their distress calls. They've continued to try and function as a crew, but with no real purpose other than to survive, things have started to degrade. Audrey has avoided being alone with Tom for fear that someone will catch them being friendly and assume that she's now there for their entertainment, not as a crew mate. She's keeping one of the guns she got from Abigail Percy's men hidden in the pocket of her heavy pea coat and she's not sure if it's there to protect herself from unwanted advances or to end her own life if there's no way out.

With it pointless to catch any more fish until they run out of what's in the hold or what's in there goes bad, the crew has too much idle time on their hands. They try to pass the time maintaining the ship or trying to fix the engine or playing games, but the tension is starting to get to even the mildest mannered person, Audrey being no exception. Tempers flare at the slightest things now and more than one crew member sports a black eye, busted nose or split lip. Sean walks with a bit of a limp after having another go at Audrey and her kicking him in the shin hard enough to raise a goose egg there.

The animosity between the two of them isn't helped by Sean spreading rumors about her and Tom being more than crew mates. It doesn't seem to matter that no one has ever caught the two of them alone and they're almost never in the same area of the ship together. People are starting to believe.

Paul does his best to try and keep everything running smoothly, but he's only one man out of a dozen. Nerves are stretched to the breaking point and everyone's on a hair trigger. Audrey doesn't envy Paul his position, but she has to wonder that if she wasn't there, would it be this bad?

Sean is of course the worse of the lot and Paul tries to keep him busy with tasks around the ship. But while his hands are occupied, it doesn't stop his lips from flapping. Audrey's sure that if his loose lips don't stop soon, her ship is sunk. She'd sooner take her own life than let one of those men force themselves on her and for that reason alone she carries the gun.

Since she's pretty much the only one who's a decent cook, she's taken over the galley and most of the men are fine with it. If anyone invades her domain, it's usually for something to eat to which they're promptly reminded that unless they want fish, they'd best leave. Any who come looking for anything else get to witness her sharpening the nine inch carving knife while she glares at him. They don't stay long.

The only other place she feels somewhat safe is her room and it's on the way there that she encounters Tom just as he comes around the corner. They stop and stare at each other, both knowing that either one of them has to back up until there's room to pass or they can squeeze past each other. She starts to turn around when he flattens himself against the wall and she looks at him dubiously.

"Come on, love," he says softly. "I won't bite."

She hesitates for a minute before finally giving in to the need to reach the relative safety of her room. She presses her back to the opposite wall and starts to slide past him, resolutely keeping from looking at him. Just as they come face, he reaches up and gently runs a finger down her cheek. Startled, she stops and looks up at him in surprise.

"You had a hair stuck to your lip," he explains.

They stare at each other for something short of eternity and she's pretty sure at that any second her wildly beating heart is going to explode from her chest. The small sensible part of her brain is screaming at her to keep moving, to get away from him, but it's to no avail. Her body remains frozen there, like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

Emboldened by her not running away, he gently caresses her cheek with his fingertips and then starts to dip his head down again. She can feel her entire body trembling and she knows it has nothing to do with the cold air, especially since she can feel sweat dripping down her spine. He moves his face closer to hers and she can feel his breath across her lips just as the last person in the universe she wants to see comes around the corner.

"Well, don't you two make a lovely sight," Sean sneers, a malicious glint to his eyes.

"Oh, bloody hell, Sean, give it a rest, will ya?" Tom snaps as he pushes Audrey back the way she came so he can turn and face the engineer and effectively act as a barrier. "We're just passin' each other in the hallway. People do it all the time."

"Funny, I don't ever recall seeing you nearly snogging the captain when you've passed him in the hallway," Sean shoots back.

Realizing that she's not going to get to her room and it's minor amount of safety, she turns on her heel and stalks back the way she came. She ignores the voices raising in anger behind her and heads out onto the open deck for some fresh, albeit freezing cold, air, angrily cramming her knit cap onto her head as she comes outside. She takes a deep breath and tries to clear her head of the feelings and thoughts she has for the first mate.

She knows she can't get involved with him or anyone else until she's safely back on North American soil...if that ever happens. She heads over to the railing and stares out towards the west in the vane hope that she sees a ship coming to her rescue. She thinks she sees something off in the distance, but it's too far away to tell if it's a ship or an iceberg at this point.

She considers going up into the pilot house to borrow the binoculars that live up there when the sound of raised voices reaches her. She turns in time to see Sean and Tom coming tumbling out onto the deck, grappling with each other like a couple of school boys. With a sigh of disgust, she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at them.

It doesn't take long for the rest of the crew to be attracted by the noise and soon they're yelling at the two fighting men. A flash of weak sunlight off the pilot house door catches her attention and she sees the captain hurrying down towards the ensuing battle. Despite being over sixty years old, Paul makes it out onto the deck in nearly record time and is pushing his way past the crowd of onlookers to get at the combatants.

"That's ENOUGH!" Paul shouts as he tries to get between the two men and ends up getting punched by Sean by accident, knocking the older man to his hands and knees.

With a roar of anger, Tom launches himself at Sean and they're soon rolling around on the ground. Audrey shoves her way between a couple of the men to get to Paul and helps him to his feet. She helps him stay on his feet as blood flows freely from his nose and she worriedly notes that he's having a hard time focusing on her.

"I'm sorry, Audrey," Paul moans near her ear. "I can't control them any more. You'd best barricade yourself in your room until things calm down."

She smiles up at him, pats his cheek and then hands him a clean handkerchief. He starts trying to staunch the blood flow as she pulls the glove off her right hand and reaches into her coat pocket. By this time Tom and Sean have gotten back to their feet, but are still throwing punches at each other and her patience has run out.

Sean starts an all out attack against Tom just as a loud **CRACK** fills the air and all of the men jump. They turn towards the source of the sound and every one of them stare in shock as Audrey slowly lowers her arm, the just fired gun dully glinting in the late October sunlight. She carefully walks towards Sean and Tom, coming between them and they both take a step back.

She glares at first Sean and then Tom before putting the safety back on the pistol and then slipping it back into her pocket. When her hand reemerges, her pad of paper and pencil are in the weapon's place. She quickly writes something down and then shows it to both men.

_You're both idiots! _

"Now that's not fair," Tom objects. "I was defending your honor."

_My honor was doing just fine until you started trying to get cozy with me. I'm a crew mate, not a play mate._

He stammers at that, unable to come up with a good response to that. While a part of her is sad that she's had to tell him off, the sensible part of her is glad that it's over and that she won't have worry about him getting friendly any more. She starts to turn to go just as Sean makes a lunge for her.

Instinct and training take over and her elbow comes up and back, nailing him right in the mouth as he reaches her. He gives a shout of pain, grabs his mouth and staggers back a couple steps. However, a glint of metal catches her eye and she turns to see that he's gotten her gun.

"Bitch," Sean snarls when he pulls his hand away from his face and sees the blood on his glove.

She turns around to face him and flips him a two finger salute. He glares at her and she returns the look measure for measure.

"Private citizens aren't allowed guns," Sean points out and she shrugs.

_So?_

"So how did you get one?" he demands as he pulls a glove off and gets a feel for the weapon.

_None of your business._

"Well, it's my business now," he smirks as he slips the safety off and levels the weapon at her. "Now, be a good little girl and do as I say."

She sakes her head 'no'.

"You don't think I'll shoot you?" he asks in disbelief and she quickly scribbles her reply.

_Does it matter? What good is a dead body to you?_

"You're not afraid?" he questions, stunned that all she does is glare at him before writing her answer.

_Of death? No. Of you? Hardly._

"Alright, you're not afraid for yourself, but what about others?" he inquires and he looks over at a couple of the guys he hangs out with the most. "Get 'em."

Before she can figure out what he's going on about, most of the crew turn on Tom and Paul. The captain and first mate are quickly overwhelmed by the other men and all she can do is stare in horror as the two men are forced down onto their knees, their arms pinned behind their backs. She hastily scrawls a note, not caring how sloppy it is.

_If you have a problem with me, then take it up with me. Leave them alone._

"Oh, I don't know," Sean drawls as she puts herself between the engineer and the two struggling men. "I always wanted a ship of my own. Not that I really want this tub, but hey, beggars can't be choosers."

_This is between you and me. Let them go._

"Make me," he dares.

Before he can blink, she throws the pad of paper at him like a Frisbee, hitting him right in the face. Startled more than hurt, he takes a step back and lowers the gun bit. He realizes his mistake a moment too late as she's suddenly right in front of him and her knee is making contact with his little sailors at a very high speed.

The air leaves his lungs almost as fast as she kneed him and his eyes bug out from the intense pain he's suddenly in. She steps back to allow him to double over and once he does, she brings her elbow down between his shoulder blades. He drops the gun while he tries to catch himself as he falls face first onto the deck and she quickly moves to retrieve it.

As she bends over, the gun is kicked out of her reach and she doesn't have to look up to realize that Billy, the biggest crewman on board, has decided to get in her way. She starts to make a dash for the gun that's skidded across the deck only to have Billy grab the back of her coat and lift her off of her feet. A second later, his arms are wrapped around her like a couple vice grips and she knows it's useless to fight him with her feet dangling several inches off of the ground. She relaxes in his grip, biding her time and saving her strength and energy.

"God damn bitch," Sean growls as he slowly staggers back to his feet. "We're stuck out here because of you."

The brief look of guilt on her face is all he needs to confirm his suspicions even though it's there for only a second.

"Bloody hell," he gasps as he tries to straighten up. "Why? Why the hell are we out here? For you, no less?"

She doesn't answer and refuses to look at him. He limps towards her and Billy but quickly jumps back when one of her legs kicks out at him. He's already sporting one too many bruises thanks to those steel toed boots and he's not interested in getting any more, thanks.

"Why!?" Sean screams as he turns on the captain, still being held captive by the men he hired. "Why are we out here? Why did you take her on when there were dozens of perfectly capable and willing men who knew what the hell they were doing? What's so special about her?"

Paul just glares back at the younger man.

"What is she really?" Sean questions with a snarl. "She's no sailor, that's for sure."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Tom snaps, giving another go at freeing himself and failing.

"Her skin isn't weather worn enough, her hands don't have the built up calluses of someone who's done this kind of work for years," Sean answers, turning to look at Audrey, "and she doesn't talk though I know she can."

She finally turns to look at the engineer, the question unspoken clearly written on her face.

"I heard you while you were sleeping shortly after we left port," Sean tells her, moving closer, but staying out of striking range of her foot. "You cried out. You didn't say anything, but I heard your voice. So, tell us, sweetheart, why are you here?"

"She won't answer you," Paul tells him, causing the other man to look over at him. "She has a speech impediment. It's too hard for her to speak clearly. That's why she writes everything."

"Is that so?" Sean responds, the tone of his voice is filled with disbelief. "So, why did you hire her? Out of all the more experienced men waiting for a job, you hired her. You didn't even bother interviewing anyone. You just went out one night and brought her back. So who is she? Why is she here? Is she here to keep you warm on the cold nights?"

"No!" Paul snaps. "That isn't why I hired her."

"Then WHY!?" Sean roars, coming to stand over the restrained captain. "WHY did you hire her!? She's barely useful when bringing in the catch. She barely knows how to tie a decent knot. Hell, she nearly went over the side during that last squall. What possible good is she?"

"I hired her because I was sick of eating your lots cooking," Paul shoots back. "I'm getting too old to keep eating crap any more."

"Bollocks," Sean snarls. "That doesn't explain why we went out much farther than we've ever gone. Why did you wait so long to turn us around? What's out here that's so damn fascinating that you went too far out and got us stranded here?"

"The catch is getting thin closer to home," Paul tries to explain. "I was hoping for better fishing out here."

"Bollocks," Sean growls again and then turns his attention to the only woman in the crew. "So, how about it, sweetheart? You going to tell us why you're here? It's your fault we're stranded."

"Don't be blaming her because ya couldn't take care of the engine," Tom snaps, once more trying to break free of the hands holding him down.

"I didn't ask you," Sean hisses, turning on the first mate.

Sean stalks towards the first mate and lets his momentum help swing his foot forward into Tom's gut. Tom lets out a grunt as he doubles over as best he can and then tries to get air back into his lungs. A sharply indrawn breath causes Sean to spin around and look at Audrey. She turns her face away from him as far as she can, but he can see a single tear leaving a trail down her cheek.

"You're not afraid of your own death," Sean states as he moves closer. "But you actually cry when your lover gets a kick to the gut."

He stops barely in time as her legs start to wildly thrash, trying to reach him. Billy tightens his hold on her, nearly cutting off her air, but she still keeps struggling. Sean moves back towards Tom, keeping an eye on her as he goes.

"I wonder," Sean muses as comes to a stop, standing over a scowling first mate. "What happens if it's someone else's life in danger."

He quickly gives Tom an upper cut to the jaw and her struggling intensifies. But it's no use as all Billy does is tighten his grip on the small woman. With her feet off of the ground, she can't get any leverage and all she can hope for is that she'll be able to kick him hard enough to get him to let go.

"So, ya can't fight me like a man," Tom snarls, ignoring the intense pain in his jaw. "Ya have to have your buddies hold me down so ya can get a punch in. Ya know ya can't win in a fair fight."

Sean looks over at Audrey who's still trying to kick Billy and having only partial success in hitting her target, but still the big man won't let go.

"What does it take to get you to make a sound?" he softly asks and she almost doesn't hear him.

When his words finally register, she stops fighting to look at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. He moves a bit closer, stopping well out of her kicking range and watches her. She's a bit out of breath, but that's more due to Billy squeezing her than from her exertions.

"Other than that one time when you were asleep, I've never heard you make a peep," Sean states. "You nearly died and yet you didn't even make a squeak as you were going over that railing. No speech impediment is so bad that it would keep you from screaming. Why don't you make a sound?"

She naturally says nothing while he continues to stare at her and she's quickly going through every single self-defense move V taught her in her mind. Not that it really does any good since they all require her feet to be on the ground. She would have thought Billy would have tired by now, but she figures the guy probably has the endurance of an ox since he's built like one.

"I hit lover boy and all you do is struggle," Sean muses. "How much of a beating do I have to give him before you start squawking?"

She just glares back at him and he watches her for a little while longer before he turns around. He looks around for a moment and then he heads across the deck to where the gun had been kicked. He picks it up and heads back towards where everyone is waiting.

"Maybe I'm not using the right motivation," he says as he levels the weapon at the first mate's head.

She starts fighting for all she's worth with her legs trying to do some damage to the man holding her, her hands attempting to grab hold of flesh beneath all of the layers of clothing Billy's wearing. So desperate is her struggling that she doesn't notice Sean is watching her very carefully.

"Or maybe, I'm not using the right target," Sean states loud enough to grab her attention.

She stops squirming long enough to watch as Sean changes his target and her heart leaps into her throat. The man who's risked everything to help her gain her freedom straightens up as best he can while Sean levels the gun right between his eyes.

"Goodbye, Captain," Sean intones with no feeling while he pulls the hammer back, cocking the gun.

"NO! LEAVE 'IM ALONE!"


	32. Solo

**Author's Notes:** Sorry about the delay. I wrote this up long hand while on vacation and I just finally got my act in gear and typed it up. I'm sorry there's no V in this chapter, but he will be back for the next chapter. Please leave a review when you're done.

* * *

"Let meh go!" she orders.

Billy, still stunned by her sudden ability to speak, obliges and she quickly moves out of his reach. She runs towards Sean, who stares at her with his eyes practically falling out of his head and his mouth hanging open in shock. By the time he recovers from his surprise, she's on him and ripping the gun out of his hand.

"Bloody hell," he gasps, not caring as she throws the gun over the railing and into the fridged waters below. "You're an American."

"Ya theenk?" she snaps as she glares at the men holding Paul down. "Let 'im go."

They look over at Sean who gives them a brief nod and they loosen their holds.

"I'm sorry, Audrey," Paul groan as she helps him to his feet.

"Don't beh," she softly replies while she supports him as he gets feeling back into his lower legs. "Ya did ya'lls best."

"So, we were supposed to meet an American ship to come get you," Sean quietly snarls. "What happened?"

"It was supposed to be a Canadian ship actually," Paul sadly responds. "I don't know why it never came."

Before Sean can respond, they hear laughing with a slightly maniacal pitch to it. They turn towards the sound and see Tom is to blame for it. The men holding him let go and take a couple steps back, staring at him nervously.

"We're rich!" Tom crows as he gets to his feet.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Sean snaps.

"Don't ya see?" Tom chuckles. "She's a spy! We turn her over to the Finger and the reward will make us rich beyond our wildest dreams!"

"You'd turn her in?" Sean demands. "After trying to get cozy with her and you'd turn her over to Creedy?"

"Not like I got anywhere, is it?" Tom snaps back. "I was just lookin' for some company at night anyways and I'm not about to share body heat or anything else with you blokes. Besides, think of the money we'll make! I'll finally be able to get that stupid bint I'm married to off of my back."

The others shift around uncomfortably, not quite looking at Tom and pointedly not looking at Audrey.

"Ya'll are married?" Audrey growls after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, stepping away from Paul.

"Yeah, so?" Tom scoffs at her. "Why do you think I took up being a deep sea fisherman? It gets me away from that harpy for weeks on end."

"Ya'll made meh theenk that ya'll cared about meh," she states, her voice a mixture of anger and hurt. "But Ah'm nothin' more than a bed warmer ta ya'll."

"Now ya're my meal ticket," he cheerfully tells her.

"Tom, you can't," Paul says, finally snapping out of his shock. "She's not a spy."

"Oh please," Tom snorts. "What else can she be? And you, old man, are up for treason for trying to sneak her out of the country."

"Ah know tha American government is screwed up, but even they're not so stupid as ta send someone who can't talk ta England."

"So ya were there on holiday, were ya?" Tom asks with a disbelieving snicker.

"She was a slave," Paul states. "She's just trying to get home."

"Oh please," Tom scoffs again.

"Shire Stables," Sean states so softly that almost no one hears him, but Audrey does and her face goes white under her tan.

"What the hell is Shire Stables?" Tom demands.

"They _were_ tha biggest slave traders in all o' England," Audrey answers with a haunted look in her eyes.

"What do _you_ know about them?" Sean demands, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Nothin' that'll give ya'll pleasant dreams," she replies, unable to stop the shiver that runs up her spine.

"How are you associated to them?" Sean questions.

"They bought meh from tha traders that had meh in tha States for a client o' theirs," she quietly responds, unconsciously hugging herself.

"Where's your scar?" Sean inquires, stepping up to her and then gently running a fingertip from above her right eyebrow, over the bridge of her nose, across her left cheek and ending just below her left ear.

"Who do ya'll know with that scar?" she whispers.

"My sister," he answers

"She pregnant?" she asks.

"Six months," he replies. "How'd you know?"

"Ah'm sorry," she sadly sighs. "Tha only reason a slave would beh marked like that is because she's a mare."

"What does that mean?" he demands.

"It means that they couldn't train her for sale, but they thought she was pretty enough ta make babies fo' them," she tells him, regret toning her voice.

"So you're not a mare," Sean states.

"No, Ah wasn't strong enough ta fight 'em," she admits, hanging her head in shame. "At least ya'lls sister had tha guts ta keep fightin'."

"Not any more," he bitterly spits out.

"Not while she's got a constant reminder o' what was done ta her," she points out. "She might get it back if ya get rid of it."

"We found a surgeon who'll fix the scar, but he won't do it until after the baby comes," he tells her.

"Ah wasn't talkin' about tha scar, Ah was talkin' about tha baby," she states.

"The baby?" he questins in shock.

"She was violated in tha most disgustin' way," she points out. "As long as tha baby is in her life, Ah doubt she'll ever recover."

"That's what the shrink said too," he quietly admits. "But it's hard to convince my parents of that. This will be their first grandchild."

"How long was ya'lls sister missin'?" she asks.

"Five years," he answers.

"Then this'll beh her third or fourth pregnancy," she states. "If a wild caught slave can't beh trained within six months, they're usually handed over ta tha breeders."

"Dear god," he gasps. "She never said that she had more."

"Why should she?" she questions. "It's not like she got ta keep 'em. She may o' never even seen 'em. Ah've heard that tha mares are knocked out an' a C-section is performed on 'em. They wake up never even seein' tha baby or even knowin' tha gender."

"How do you know all of this if you're not a mare?" he demands.

"Ah was told by my trainer," she replies a shudder running through her body. "He was determined ta break meh...an' it worked."

"And ya expect us to believe this load of bollocks?" Tom demands, stomping over to them. "Ya're a spy! Admit it!"

"Ya'll, want ta see my stars?" she snaps back. "Fine!"

She quickly unbuttons her pea coat, shrugs it off and hands it over to Paul. Then she turns her back to Paul, Tom and Sean, ignoring the rest of the crew gathering around, and pulls up all four shirts that she's wearing. It takes her several seconds to pull all of the layers loose of her pants, but no sooner does the freezing air cross her lower back when she gets the satisfaction of hearing several men gasp.

"Dear god," Paul whispers.

"They go from my shoulder down ta my calves," she bitterly states as she pulls her shirts down and then reclaims her coat. "Now do ya believe meh?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe," Tom smirks. "Ya're still my meal ticket out of my bollocksed up life. Between ya and the captain committin' treason by granting ya passage, I'll be livin' the good life."

"Tom, you can't do this!" Paul gasps in shock. "She's just trying to get home."

"And what has she done for me?" Tom shoots back.

"Only cooked ya'lls every meal since Ah got on board," she snarls.

"With the money I'll get turning you two in, I'll be able to hire my own cook for the rest of my life," Tom laughs.

"Tom, I can't believe this," Paul states sadly. "I thought I had taken on a good first mate."

"Ya did," Tom shoots back. "I can run this ship with my eyes closed. But what I'll get paid for this job isn't worth squat compared to the money I'll get from the Finger."

"How about the rest of you?" Paul angrily demands as he turns to the rest of his crew. "Will the money you make help you sleep at night? Even though you sent two innocent people to a painful and horrible death."

"A firing squad is quick," Tom says, almost sounding assure of himself.

"An' ya'll know this from personal experience, do ya?" Audrey snaps. "If ya really theenk fo' one second they'll just line us up against a wall an' shoot us, ya're more delusional than Ah thought."

"Well?" Paul demands of the rest of the men.

They nervously shift around, not meeting their captain's eyes. Audrey watches them in a combination of horror, disgust and sadness. She's not sure if she wants to cry or hit something, so she decides to do both.

Before anyone realizes what she's about to do, she takes a step towards Tom and kicks him right in the wedding tackle. He immediately doubles over in pain as she spins on her heel and marches away. She stomps over to the railing while hot tears of anger stream down her cheeks.

"There's still a chance you'll get to go home," Sean softly assures her a couple minutes later.

"How can ya beh so sure?" she demands as she latches onto the railing with a death grip. "The current we're caught in is bringin' us closer ta tha British Isles, not Canada."

"Call it a hunch," he smirks and before she can question him further, a ship's horn blast making her jump.

She quickly turns towards the sound and then feels her heart leap up into her throat. At first she's afraid that the ship she sees approaching them is another British ship, but then she notices the name on the prow. The Liberty is a Canadian ship and she goes weak in the knees as she gives a gasp of delight.

"Don't even think ya're goin' with them," Tom growls from behind her as he grabs her arm.

Without a word, she easily breaks his hold on her and palm strikes him in the face. Only pure bloody luck keeps him from getting a broken nose, but he will be sporting one hell of a black eye by morning. With a snarl, he lunges at her only to find his way blocked by Sean.

"Back off, you bloody bastard," Sean snarls as he pushes the other man back. "She's going with them."

"Like hell she is!" Tom shouts back. "She's a spy!"

"Tom, I would have never taken a spy on board," Paul states as he comes up beside her. "She was a slave and she's just trying to get home."

"That's a load of Bollocks and ya know it!" Tom yells.

"Why would the US send someone so ill suited to be a spy to England?" Paul demands.

"How the hell should I know?" Tom shoots back. "We both know that they're a bunch of crazies over there."

"No spy would know the scar slaves used for breeding have nor would a spy have blanched like she did just at the name Shire Stables," Sean states. "She's going with that ship."

"Ya're a fool," Tom snaps. "Think of the money. Ya can buy whatever you want. Ya can even get ya're sister that operation she needs."

"Really?" Sean shoots back. "What's the going price for peace of mind these days? As for my sister, my parents have more than enough money to pay for the scar to be removed."

"What about the rest of ya?" Tom asks, turning to the rest of the crew that's been standing around watching. "Think of the money we'll get."

"Money at the price of two innocent lives," Sean points out. "And don't think for one second that they're just going to line the two of them up against a wall and shoot them, especially when it comes to her."

"We're ya a Fingerman in a past life?" Tom sneers.

"I was in a pub one night where a Fingerman had one too many shots of whiskey," Sean answers. "You remember that night, Billy?"

"Yeah," Billy replies an unhappy look coming over his face. "The bloody git went on about what they do to their prisoners...especially the women. Gang rape is only the beginning."

"Useless and annoying as she's been, I wouldn't wish that on anybody, not even her," Sean states.

"Remember how useless Ah am tha next time ya'll have ta eat ya're own cookin'," she grumbles.

"Ok, not completely useless," Sean grins over his shoulder at her and she glares back at him. "The point is, she's going home."

"Right," Tom scoffs. "You and what army is going to stop me from turning her in."

"This one," Billy snarls as he and the rest of the crew come and stand between them.

"But the money...," Tom feebly starts.

"Isn't worth dick if we can't look at ourselves in the mirror every morning," Billy snaps back.

"AHOY!" an amplified man's voice calls, startling everyone and causing them to turn towards the railing.

"Ahoy!" Paul yells back, waving his arm over his head.

"Are you in need of assistance?" the Canadian sailor asks, still using the megaphone in his hand.

"Yes!" Paul quickly responds, nodding as he replies.

"NO!" Tom shouts.

Tom lunges for the railing, but Billy and a couple other men grab him and drag him back. Tom futilely struggles against them as they start to drag him below deck. Before they can even get the door open, they hear a ship's horn coming from the other side of the ship. Sean dashes over to the other railing and isn't sure if he should cheer or swear.

"It's an English ship," Sean announces.

"HA!" Tom yells in glee.

"Get him below deck," Paul orders and Billy and the others comply as swiftly as they can.

"We don't have much time," Sean states as he rushes back towards the captain. "We need to get her on that ship before the other one gets here."

"Suggestions?" Paul asks.

"Get a line to them," Sean answers briskly. "We'll use the harness I made so we could siphon the gas tank."

"But the harness hasn't been tested yet," Paul states.

"I made it to take Billy's weight," Sean tells him. "She weighs next to nothing, so it won't be a problem."

"What about my thangs?" she questions worriedly.

"You'll have to leave them," Sean replies. "There's no time for you to pack."

"Can Ah at least get my guitar?" she asks, her heart wildly pounding in her chest.

"Hurry," Paul orders and she turns and runs below deck.

She sprints past the galley and only spares a glance as Billy and company keep Tom subdued and quiet. She runs into her cabin, not caring as the door slams against the wall in her haste and immediately rushes for her most prized possession sitting in the corner. She pauses by the dresser long enough to grab a couple pairs of panties and stuffs them into the pocket of her coat.

By the time she comes back on deck, the Canadian ship has come along beside them. She can see that a line is now strung between the two ships and Sean is standing there with his makeshift harness. She gets a queasy feeling in her stomach at the sight of it, but she knows it's her only hope for freedom.

Before she can blink, Paul takes her guitar from her and heads over to the men that are holding onto their end of the rope. She nervously watches as they thread the line through the handle of the guitar case and then send it sliding down to the smaller ship. Once her guitar is safely on board, she turns her attention back to her immediate surroundings and discovers Sean is finishing buckling her into the harness.

"That must be some guitar," Sean quietly mutters. "You didn't notice a thing I was doing."

"It was given ta meh by a very special lady an' Ah would have been most upset if somethin' happened ta it," she replies.

"Is she ready?" Paul anxiously asks.

"She's all buckled in," Sean answers.

"Ah can't walk in this thang," she states after trying to waddle over to the railing.

Before she can squawk in protest, Sean wraps his arms around her middle from behind and carries her over to the men with the rope. He continues to hold her until the line is run through the support ring on the harness. Once that's taken care of, he lifts her over the railing.

"Hold onto any part of the harness except the support ring," Sean instructs. "Grab the ring and you'll either stop your progress or lose your fingers or both. You got that?"

"Grab anywhere except tha ring," she repeats, not daring to look down to the dark water so far below.

"You ready?" Paul asks.

"As ready as Ah'll ever beh," she replies, trying to ignore her wildly beating heart as she looks over at the men surrounding her. "Thank ya, all o' ya."

"Smooth sailing, Audrey," Paul responds before turning to his engineer. "Let her go."

Sean releases her and only years of training keep her from crying out as she drops several feet before the rope is pulled taut. She grabs hold of the strap below the ring and closes her eyes. She tries to think of anything but of all the things that could go wrong and the faces of the twins flash across her minds eye.

"Legs up!" someone yells before she can let out a sob of anguish.

Instinctively, she pulls her knees to her chest and a moment later she's caught in a couple pairs of burly arms. Hesitantly, she opens her eyes and sees that she's safely across. With legs still shaking from the adrenaline rush, she puts her feet down and barely manages to keep from collapsing.

"Are you alright, dear?" a strange woman asks as several hands start to undo the straps and buckles of the harness.

"Ah...Ah theenk so," Audrey nervously answers, finally being able to focus on the face of the other woman.

"That's good," the woman says as she pats Audrey's shoulder. "My name's Lacey. What's yours?"

"Audrey," she automatically replies.

She turns back around and sees Paul, Sean and the others hauling in the line with the harness attached. As soon as the harness is back on board, Paul waves and she waves back. A second later, the ship's horn blasts and the deck vibrates as the engine revs up. A few moments later, they're pulling away and she an feel her throat tightening and her eyes stinging with tears.

"Come along, Audrey," Lacey says as she puts her arm around Audrey's shoulders. "A shower, a hot meal and some sleep will have you feeling right as rain."

Audrey nods and lets the other woman lead her away from the railing. As she looks at the strange new people around her, she knows that while she's come very far in her journey, she still has a ways to go before she's truly free.


	33. Duet

Author's Notes: 2 chapters within a week! I'm on a roll! Please leave a review when you're done.

* * *

With a sense of some satisfaction, V watches a news report that the Victory has been towed into port with a blown engine. It's also noted that the only female crew member was lost at sea during a squall and a brief interview with the captain explains what happened.

Interestingly, they also interview the first mate who claims that the woman actually was a spy that escaped on a Canadian fishing boat. Of course, the captain and the rest of the crew all deny this. They all state that the first mate had become romantically attached to her and her death has obviously caused him to become overly distraught.

Once he is satisfied that there is nothing new to be reported, V heads for his computer room where he hacks into the data base of the police station in Troon. He quickly finds the itemized list of possessions that the 'drowned' crew member left behind and he smiles. Out of all of the normal things, like clothing and toiletries, he notices that one item is conspicuous by its absence. Her guitar is not on the list.

Confident that his plan worked, he checks his secured email and right at the top is a message from his contact in Scotland. He quickly reads the message and has to admit that he hadn't seen the problem of the other ship not meeting them or the engine blowing up. While it disgruntles him that he wasn't able to predict these things happening, he has to be satisfied that everything has worked out to his satisfaction so far.

With that in mind, he gets back to the task of finishing getting things ready for his coming out party.

* * *

She watches the seagulls soaring over head, listening to their cries and tries not to think how the birds in Scotland looked and sounded a lot like these birds. She turns her attention instead down to the crew as they hustle about getting ready to put into port. She casts her gaze out across the frozen landscape and she's not sure if her shaking hands are due to excitement, fear or the biting cold.

"You ready, Audrey?" Johnny asks.

"As ready as Ah'll ever be," she answers as she looks over at the ship's captain. "Thank ya fo' takin' meh on board."

"It's the least I could do," he replies and then reaches for her guitar case. "Here, let me carry that for you."

She lets him take it, knowing full well it has nothing to do with chivalry. A short time later the ship is docked and the gang plank is slid into place. Johnny leads her over to it with his hand loosely on her arm, but before they can reach the exit, their way is blocked. A man with a Port Authority patch on his uniform steps on board followed by a couple policemen.

"I'm sorry, Audrey," Johnny says, a guilty look on his face. "I had to report I had picked you up or I could go to jail. I'm really sorry."

"It's alright," she assures him. "Ah would have been surprised if ya hadn't."

Unable to look at her, he hands over the guitar case to one of the officers as the other one puts her in handcuffs. He can't watch as they lead her away, his guilt gnawing at his gut. He goes to help unload their catch, pointedly ignoring his sister Lacey's glares.

* * *

"...but you may call me V," he says with an elegant bow to the woman huddled on the ground in front of him and trying to ignore the strange feelings stirring within him.

"Are you like a crazy person?" she blurts out.

"I'm sure there are some who will say so," he answers and he can hear Audrey snickering in the back of his mind. "But to whom, might I ask, am I speaking with?"

"I'm Evey," she answers

"Evey?" he asks, startled and then a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "E-V," he carefully sounds out and he can hear Audrey, as the departed Southern Belle would put it, bustin' a gut. "Of course you are."

"What does that mean?" she questions.

"It means that I, like God, do not play with dice and I don't believe in coincidences," he replies as he puts his hand out for her to take. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," she responds as she takes his hand and lets him help her to her feet. "Thanks to you."

"Oh, I merely played my part," he tells her as he steps back to give her room and for some strange reason, he recalls Audrey's voice as she sang him one last song. "But tell me, do you enjoy music, Evey?"

* * *

A knock at the open office door brings the police chief's head up. He gives a sigh of relief as he gazes at the grim faced man in his doorway, hand still raised over the name plaque on the door that reads McTavish.

"James!" the chief gratefully greets. "Thank you so much for coming all the way up from Kingston."

James merely nods and the displeased look on his face doesn't leave.

"You're captain said you normally take today off, but I really need your help," McTavish tells him as he gets out of his chair and leaves his office, leading James further into the precinct. "The Port Authority brought this gal in from Quebec a few days ago. It seems she escaped from England and managed to go from a fishing boat out of Scotland onto one of ours out in the middle of the Atlantic. At any rate, this young lady claims that she was a slave there for almost nine years and she's now returning to North America. She's got a Southern accent and we haven't been able to catch her not using it. However, I'm getting pressure from higher up to prove that she is from the US or ship her back to England. You're her last hope of staying here, James. She's been very cooperative so far and she's very nice, but the brass wants a decision yesterday."

McTavish finishes his monologue just as they reach the dark side of a two way mirror that looks into a brightly light interrogation room and they can see a woman with bright red hair is handcuffed to the table in it. Even though she's supposed to be sitting in one of the chairs, she's instead sitting on the table with her back to the mirror. If that isn't peculiar enough, she's softly humming the Happy Birthday song to herself.

"Ok, let me get her talking and then you can tell me if she really is from the states," McTavish instructs.

He heads for the door, never seeing the strange look on James face.

"Good afternoon, Audrey," McTavish cheerfully greets as he comes into the room, shutting the door behind him so he never hears James sharp intake of breath. "Please sit in a chair."

She frowns at him before climbing off of the table and sitting in a chair, all the while keeping her back to the mirror.

"So, tell me what your life was like back in England," he starts.

She doesn't answer, but instead stares at the wall across from her.

"Ok, tell me about your life growing up," he instructs after many minutes of silence.

She makes no indication that she's heard him and doesn't even move though she has to be uncomfortable. Confused as to why this normally talkative woman is suddenly silent, he starts trying to think of things that will get her talking.

"Tell me about your first pet," he tries.

Again, he's met with silence.

"What was your favorite subject in school?" he asks, noting that's it's been close to half an hour since he entered the room.

Her lips remain still and he's starting to get impatient.

"What was your most memorable birthday present?" he inquires, nearly desperate and wondering if James is even still outside the room.

"Rehmember, rehmember, tha fifth o' November, tha gun powder treason an' plot," she says so softly that he can barely hear her. "Ah can theenk o' no reason tha gun powder treason should ever beh forgot."

"Um...could you repeat that a little louder?" he requests.

"Do ya know what today is, Mr. McTavish?" she asks, finally looking at the man and he can't say the look on her face is a happy one.

"It's...um...the fifth of November," he hesitantly answers.

"No, Mr. McTavish," she quietly snarls. "Today is my birthday. It's tha first birthday Ah've been able ta celebrate in ten years an' Ah'm spendin' it rottin' in one o' your jail cells like some common criminal!"

"Audrey, I'm sorry...," he starts.

Before he can get another word out, the door slams open and James stands there with a look that's a mixture of hope and disbelief. McTavish opens his mouth to reprimand the younger man, but a gasp from Audrey pulls his attention back to her. She's standing, trembling from head to foot and looking as if she's seen a ghost.

"It can't be," she whimpers as she tries to move away from James only to be stopped by the handcuff on her wrist. "Ya're dead. Ya'lls letters stopped comin'. Ya're dead."

* * *

She softly shuts the door to the kids' bedroom and then tries to slip past the living room, but to no avail.

"Have you heard from Jimmy yet, Debbie?" the old woman sitting on the couch demands as she glares at the front door.

"No Grandmother Catherine, I haven't," Debbie calmly responds despite having this conversation all day long.

"Why did work send him all the way to Ottawa?" Catherine testily asks. "He knows what today is."

"He said that they told him it was an emergency," Debbie replies as she quickens her steps. "I'm going to wash the dishes now."

She quickly makes her escape to the kitchen and starts loading the dish washer. She silently reflects on her husband's and his grandmother's strange obsession to celebrate her missing sister-in-law's birthday every year. He always takes the day off work and he and his grandmother spend the day talking about this long gone woman. To add to the weirdness, they end the day by singing "Happy Birthday" and eating a cake that Catherine makes herself.

She reminds herself that she married James for better or worse more than five years ago and it's times like this she wonders if it's worth it. She hears the shuffling gait of her grandmother-in-law coming into the dinning room and she quickly starts filling the sink with hot soapy water. She's not in the mood to listen to Catherine go on about her grandson's absence or her granddaughter's disappearance ten years ago.

"Grandmother?" James voice calls from the living room. "Debbie?"

"In the kitchen," Debbie calls back as she submerges the first pan and turns off the water.

"Jimmy! Where have you been?" Catherine snaps impatiently

"Ah'll explain in a minute," James says as he barges into the dinning room, a goofy grin on his face. "Please go wait fo' meh in tha livin' room."

Before Catherine can respond, he dashes off to the kitchen.

"What took you so long?" Debbie quietly growls as he wraps his arms around her middle from behind. "Your grandmother has been driving me crazy all day and you missed dinner."

"Tha most wonderful thang has happened," he tells her gleefully before planting a kiss on her neck. "Please, come ta tha livin' room."

"I'm in the middle of doing the dishes," she points out irritably.

"Tha dishes can wait," he states as buries his nose in her hair. "Please, Debs, this is important."

"Fine," she grumbles and then reaches for a towel to dry off her hands.

She follows him into the living room and he's bouncing around like a giddy school boy. She can't help but smile at his energy and obvious happiness. James makes sure that his grandmother is comfortably seated facing the front door before heading for that portal.

"Jimmy, what is going on?" Catherine huffs, very unhappy with her grandson.

"A miracle," he states as he opens the front door.

Standing there is a red haired, green eyed woman looking both excited and afraid. She first glances at James and then over to Debbie, giving James' wife a shy smile. When her gaze lands on Catherine, her eyes get incredibly large and she gasps in surprise.

"Grandmother?" the woman whispers.

"Audrey?" Catherine responds in a shaky voice. "But how? Where have you been?"

"London, England," James answers as he pulls his sister into the house and then takes her guitar case from her.

"But how?" Catherine repeats, the shock still evident in her voice while Audrey stumbles over to her. "You're face...it's...different."

With a great gasping sob, Audrey drops to her knees and starts crying into her hands.

"There, there, child, it's alright," Catherine quickly assures Audrey as she leans forward and pulls the young woman towards her. "You're just as beautiful as I remember."

Debbie watches in stunned amazement as her husband puts the case off to the side and then gets down on his knees next to his long lost sister. She doesn't remember the last time she ever saw him cry like this, but the tears are flowing freely down his face now. She's barely even aware of the wetness on her own cheeks while her husband pulls his grandmother and sister into his embrace.

"Mommy?" a small voice calls from the hallway.

Debbie turns to see her oldest child standing there blinking against the bright light and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Chrissy, sweetie, what are you doing up?" Debbie gently admonishes.

"I heard voices," Chrissy answers.

"I'm sorry we woke you up, honey," Debbie says as she goes over to the girl and picks her up.

"Why are Daddy and Grammy crying?" Chrissy asks. "And who's the pretty lady?"

"Daddy and Grammy are crying because they're very happy," Debbie explains and Chrissy frowns at her.

"But you're only supposed to cry when you're sad, not when you're happy," Chrissy states in that final tone of four year old wisdom.

"I know, sweetheart, but sometimes when you're so very, very happy, your joy comes out as tears," Debbie tries to explain.

"That doesn't make no sense," Chrissy grumbles.

"That doesn't make _any_ sense," Debbie corrects with a smile. "I know it's confusing, but that's the way it is."

"Who's the lady?" Chrissy asks again.

"The lady," James answers, finally getting up off the floor and coming over to them, "is ya're Aunt Audrey."

"But I thought Aunt Audrey wasn't here anymore," Chrissy states in confusion.

"She is now, pet," he happily tells her as he takes her into his arms and cuddles her. "She is now."

He carries her over to Audrey and Catherine who have remained completely oblivious to the exchange going on in the same room. The tears have finally slowed down, they they haven't completely stopped. Audrey still sits on the floor with her head on her grandmother's lap while Cathrine gently strokes her red hair.

"Audrey," he softly calls and his sister looks up at him with red rimmed eyes.

"Ya'll have a little one?" Audrey asks in surprise upon seeing the child in his arms.

"Sis, this is Christina Audrey Mary, my daughter," he introduces as he gets back down on the floor. "Chrissy, this is ya'lls Aunt Audrey."

"Oh Jimmy, she's beautiful," Audrey gasps. "An' ya named her after Momma, sissy and me?"

"It was tha least Ah could do," he replies with a sad smile.

"She talks like you do, Daddy," Chrissy states and the adults chuckle. "Is she the one Grammy made the cake for?"

"She most certainly is," Catherine answers.

"Does that mean we can eat it now?" Chrissy eagerly asks.

"Ya'll made meh a cake?" Audrey questions in bewilderment.

"I've made a cake for you on your birthday for the past ten years," Catherine admits. "I had prayed that some day you'd return to us and now my prayers have been answered."

"Ah'm sorry," Audrey whispers just before she drops her face in Catherine's lap and starts crying again.

Confused and upset by her aunt's sudden tears, Chrissy wraps her arms around James' neck and starts sniffling. James quickly gets up and heads for his wife, but finds that she's gone. Before he can go searching for her, she steps out of the kids' room with their son in her arms.

Feeling as if his heart may burst right out of his chest, he pulls his wife and son to him with his free arm. He holds them close and buries his nose in Debbie's hair, silently praying that this isn't some really vivid dream. When he finally opens his eyes again, his wife and children are still in his arms and his sister is helping their grandmother to her feet. Audrey looks over at James and then sees the little boy in his wife's arms.

"Who's this li'l un?" Audrey asks, before scowling at her brother. "An' ya still haven't introduced meh ta ya wife."

"Sorry, sis," James says with a grin. "This is my wife Debbie an' our son Steven Thomas. He'll be two in a couple weeks."

"It's so nice ta meet ya'll," Audrey says to Debbie, Stevie and Chrissy before turning her attention back to James. "Ya named 'im after Poppa and li'l brother. Ya got any more li'l uns hidin' somewhere?"

"Nope, just these two," James assures her with a laugh.

"Can we have cake now?" Chrissy asks impatiently and all the adults laugh.

Soon everyone moves into the dinning room and 'Happy Birthday' is sung to a teary eyed Audrey. Just the simple pleasure of eating her birthday cake with her family makes it seem like the last ten years were all just a really bad dream. All too soon everything is cleaned up and the kids are put back to bed, but the adults can't seem to relax despite the herbal tea they're drinking to help them get to sleep.

"Why were you in England?" Debbie finally asks, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Now that tha li'l uns are in bed, Ah guess now's as good a time as any ta tell ya'll what happened," Audrey softly admits while staring into her nearly empty cup.

With that, she tells them how she came to be in England without giving them the more horrific moments that she's seen in the past ten years. She gives them only barest details of what she was put through for training, not giving them the details of what she was trained for. Her being sold and shipped overseas and the operations performed on her.

She can't help but smile as she talks about the twins and even Ruth. She pauses before telling them about the night Michael Oliver Jones died and her first meeting with the man that would change her life. They wait patiently as she gathers her thoughts about V and her life with him.

"Ah suppose it doesn't matter here in Canada," she states after a few moments. "It's not like anybody can stop that man once he sets his mind ta it. V is a force o' nature unto 'imself an' it's just as well that he's over there."

"V? As in the letter 'V'?" James questions. "What kind o' name is that?"

"It was the only name he gave meh an' Ah wasn't about ta ask fo' another un," she tells him.

She then proceeds to tell them of how V came into her life and how he changed it forever. Once she's done, it's close to midnight and they decide that any questions can wait. With their minds still spinning at the events of the evening, they go off to bed, each knowing that sleep will be a long time in coming.


	34. Finale

**Author's Notes:** Ok, my dear readers, this story has just one more chapter to go and then it will finally be done. It's hard to believe that I started this story three and a half years ago and that at long last, it's coming to a close. I will be trying my darnedest to get that last chapter written and posted as soon as I can. As always, a big thank you to all of you who have stuck with me this far.

* * *

"FREEZE!" Dominic orders the dark figure in front of him. "Get your hands on your head! Do it now or I'll shoot!"

"I must say I'm rather astonished by the response time of London's finest," V calmly states as he places his hands on his head and slowly turns around. "I hadn't quite expected you to be so Johnny on the spot."

"We were here before you even got started," Dominic smugly tells him and while V keeps his face pointed towards the detective, he can see Evey stealthily coming down the hallway towards them. "Bad luck, chummy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," V replies with an amused purr.

Before Dominic can say anything, he feels someone tap him on the shoulder and turns to see who it is. He gets a snoot full of pepper spray for his carelessness and he instinctively strikes out at his attacker. He doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing his attacker taken out of the fight as he mouth, nose and eyes all feel like they're on fire.

V spins the detective around and barely manages to pull his punches in time to only knock the man out instead of killing him. He stands over the prone man, surprised by the rage within him and then he looks over at Evey. It feels as if a hand is squeezing his heart and he goes to stand over her, bewildered by these feelings.

He watches the gentle rise and fall of her ribs, assuring himself that she's still alive and he feels the constriction around his heart lessen. Still confused by these strange emotions as he looks at her and then reality butts itself back into his awareness. Before anyone else can do something stupidly heroic, he carefully lifts Evey up into his arms and quickly leaves Jordan Tower.

Once he reaches the safety of the Shadow Gallery, only then does he allow his guard to relax. He immediately heads for Audrey's old room and he's eternally glad that he never got around to converting it back into a storage area. He sets his precious cargo down on the bed and briefly admires the way light plays across her honey colored locks.

He gives himself a mental shake and then goes off to get a cold compress for the growing lump on her forehead. As soon as he takes care of her injury, eternally grateful that it's just a bump to the head and not another bullet wound, he leaves her to rest. He heads towards the source of sound that he feels can give him relief to his sudden surge of emotions for this girl and randomly pushes the buttons. When he hears Nat 'King' Cole's voice start to croon 'Unforgettable', he has to chuckle to himself.

"_Besides,"_ an amused female voice from his memory says, _"maybe ya'll find yaself helpin' another damsel in distress who just happens ta be another letter in tha alphabet an' then tha two o' ya can run off an' raise a whole bunch o' little letters."_

"How I wish that were possible, Audrey," he sadly sighs to the nonexistent woman and then goes to check on the mayhem he's created.

* * *

The sharp words of the beauty still sting the beast hours after they've been spoken. Working out and sharpening his blades have done little to improve his humor. Looking for a way to lessen his black mood, he heads for his computer.

With some grim satisfaction he watches the officials as they scramble to figure out who he is and how to find him. However, he can't seem to keep his concentration on his task as her words come back to haunt him. He tries to keep his focus, but doubt now plagues him and clouds his judgment.

Why do her words concern him? Why does he feel this need to protect her? To care for her? What is it about her that ties his thoughts into a knot? What is wrong with him?

Desperate for a distraction from these questions running around in his head, he turns to connecting to the Canadian news agencies. It's not an easy task and it yields little reward except for a small blurb about a woman who was brought in on a fishing boat called the Liberty. It takes him several hours to hack into the Quebec port authority's computers only to find that the woman was transferred to Ottawa. Another hour later gives him the answer he has been seeking and the smile on his face easily matches the one on his mask.

A while later, when the beauty finally emerges, she finds the beast happily humming to himself and making her breakfast.

* * *

"Four hundred dollars?" she hisses angrily.

"What's tha matter?" he asks, surprised at the venom in his wife's voice. "She just bought what she needed."

"What the problem is, James, is that we can't afford for her to go on a shopping spree," Debbie softly snarls.

"It wasn't a shoppin' spree," he counters, trying to keep his own ire in check. "She needed clothes an' toiletries. She came here with nothin' more than the clothes on her back an' that guitar. Even as a man Ah know she can't keep wearin' tha same thang day in an' day out."

"James, we can't afford for her to live here," she states bluntly. "We're barely making ends meet as it is. We barely had enough to cover the utilities and the rent but with all you've spent, we're not going to be able to pay some of our bills."

"Ah'm sorry, Debs, it's my fault," he quietly admits, sinking down to sit on the edge of their bed. "She only wanted ta buy a couple pairs o' cheap sweat suits, but Ah insisted she buy somethin' a bit more durable. She said she'll pay us back."

"Unless she takes to walking the streets at night, I don't see how," she snaps.

"Deborah!" he snarls through clenched teeth. "That's my _sister_ ya'll are talkin' about!"

"I'm sorry, James," she softly replies as she sinks down onto the bed next to him. "It's just with the five of us already living here and our paychecks barely covering our bills, we just don't have the money for another mouth. The landlord will have a fit if he finds out she's living here too. We can't afford a bigger place. Where will we go if we get thrown out?"

"Ah'm sorry, sweetheart," he sighs as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure somethin' out."

"Not if your sister keeps wasting half a loaf of bread and nearly a dozen eggs to make French toast for breakfast we won't," she grumbles. "That loaf was supposed to last us all week."

"Ah'll talk ta her about that," he assures her.

With a sigh, she leans her head on his shoulder and tries to figure out where her emotions lay. On the one hand, she's very happy for the man she loves to finally have his sister back after exactly ten years to the day without her. However, she also has her own family to worry about and she's not sure how they're going to manage.

What money she has managed to save from their paychecks each week is now gone thanks to buying Audrey new clothes. She doesn't want to resent a woman she's only just met, but it's hard when she has her own kids to think about. It's bad enough she has to leave her babies at home with Catherine every day because of the woman's advanced age, but they have little choice.

Before she can wallow in any more self pity, there's a soft knock on the bedroom door. James gets up to answer it and she silently hopes that whatever disaster that's about to be sprung on her won't cost too much money. When she's sees that it's Audrey at the door she tries not to grit her teeth.

"Ah hope Ah wasn't interruptin' nothin'," Audrey nervously starts.

"We were just havin' a quiet moment before all hell breaks loose again," he jokes.

"Ah know how that is with li'l uns," Audrey smiles. "Ah was wonderin' if ya'll have a large bowl an' a seam ripper or a pair o' sharp scissors Ah could borrow."

"Um...yeah, give me a sec," Debbie replies.

She's confused by the request, but she gets up anyway. Debbie goes over to the sewing machine in the corner of the room and opens the box she keeps her sewing supplies in. She digs around a bit before finding what she's after and then she hands it over to Audrey.

"Thank ya," Audrey says just before turning and heading back down the hallway.

The other two follow her into the dining room and find Audrey's pea coat draped over the back of one of the chairs and her guitar laying on the table with the strings removed.

"Is there something wrong with your guitar?" Debbie asks.

"Tha sound's a bit off, but Ah'll fix that in a jiff," Audrey answers as she takes a seat at the table. "Can Ah get that bowl please?"

"Yeah, hold on," Debbie responds, still perplexed by Audrey's request.

When she returns with the bowl she finds James watching his sister and Audrey has put her hand through the hole in the body of her guitar. Too confused to say anything, Debbie simply puts the bowl on the table, takes a seat next to James and watches too. After a minute or so of her rooting around inside the guitar, they hear the sound of tape being pulled off of wood.

"There we go," Audrey happily states as she carefully pulls her hand free of the instrument.

"Oh my gawd," James gasps when a large piece of tape with several rings and a pair of pearl and diamond earrings attached appear.

"That's the guitar," Audrey states as she starts to peel the jewelry off and drop them into the bowl. "Ah'll restring it in a bit."

"Where did you get those?" Debbie nervously asks.

"Let's just call 'em payment fo' services rendered," Audrey grimly answers as she pulls her coat into her lap and picks up the seam ripper.

"Audrey, where did ya get these?" James asks in an authoritative tone.

"Who long does Grandmother normally take tha kids ta tha library?" Audrey counter questions.

"They'll be back in about an hour, maybe an hour and a half," Debbie answers.

"Please, don't tell Grandmother what Ah'm about ta tell ya'll," Audrey requests and the other two hesitantly agree. "There are some thangs she'll be better off never knowin'."

Once she has their word, she tells them all of the things she had left out from her narrative the night before. She talks as she rips the seams out of her coat. Little by little, the worse parts of the past ten years of her life are revealed while strings of pearls with small diamonds spaced between them are pulled from the hem and collar of her coat. As she tells of her encounter with Abigail Percy, she's removing the bracelets from the cuffs.

"So, like Ah said, payment fo' services rendered," Audrey concludes and the other two silently agree.

"What do we do now?" Debbie finally asks, staring at the nearly full bowl.

"Find someone who'll give ya a good price an' sell 'em," Audrey says, emotionally exhausted from having to relive the worse parts of her slavery. "Ah sure don't want 'em."

"Ah'll see what Ah can find," James states as he pulls the bowl towards himself. "What do ya intend ta do with tha money?"

"After Ah pay ya'll back, then Ah'd like ta go back ta school an' get my high school diploma or whatever the equivalent is o' it," Audrey replies. "O' course Ah'm gonna need a job an' get my own place. Ah don't wanna be a burden ta ya'll an' ya don't need tha stress o' another mouth ta feed. Maybe when Ah move out, Ah'll get a place big enough fo' Grandmother an' meh. Ya'll don't need ta have family under foot when ya're tryin' ta start un o' ya're own."

There's a stunned silence for a while and Audrey takes the time to start restringing her guitar.

"Thank you, Audrey," Debbie finally whispers.

"Ya're quite welcome," Audrey softly replies as she finishes with the guitar.

* * *

Nearly asleep from a long day of standing in more lines than she can count, filling out forms that probably required the destruction of an old growth forest and talking to what seems to be half of the workers at the Department of Immigration up in Ottawa, Audrey wishes the news would hurry up and be over with. Since the only place left for her to sleep is the couch, her grandmother's bed being much too narrow for two people, she has to wait until everyone has gone to bed before she can sleep herself, but currently, the other adults in the apartment are watching TV. So she waits, curled up in the overstuffed chair, letting the drone of the news cast lull her to sleep.

"Audrey!" Jimmy calls and she barely responds to his voice. "Audrey, wake up!"

When she still doesn't really acknowledge her brother, he goes over and shakes her awake.

"What?" she asks irritably.

"Look at tha TV," he instructs.

She blearily stares at him for several seconds before his words finally register on her tired brain. She finally drags her attention over to the TV and stares at it for more than a minute. It takes her that long to realize what she's seeing.

"Why is V on TV?" she asks groggily.

"He blew up the Old Bailey, hijacked the TV station and then he tried to blow up the station," Catherine answers. "But they shot him, so it's over."

"What!?" Audrey demands, instantly awake just as the program goes to a commercial.

"I saw it on the news this afternoon, but that was just a preliminary report," Catherine tells her. "This one should be able to tell us everything that's going on. I would have told you earlier, but Chrissy had her melt down about then and it just went right out of my mind."

"Come on, sis," James says soothingly when he sees that Audrey's upset. "It's ok."

"He saved my life, Jimmy," she quietly replies, staring at the TV, willing it to return to the news. "It can't just beh over. Not like that."

The others look at each other, unsure of what to say, so they stay silent and wait. After what seems to be days of waiting for Audrey, the news finally comes back on and she leans forward in her seat. She barely dares breathe as the video is shown of the Old Bailey being blown up, followed by V's broadcast and then the final clip of a man running through fog towards a camera before gunfire can be heard and the man falling to the floor.

"That's not V," Audrey states with a sigh of relief.

"How can you be sure?" Debbie asks.

"Ya don't live with a fella fo' six months an' not know how he moves," Audrey answers, relief on her face. "Ah don't know who that poor man was or why he was dressed like V, but that was _not_ V. O' that Ah am certain."

The TV gets turned off and the other adults ask her questions about her time with V. She answers until it seems she's yawning every other word and the others finally get the hint. Soon they're heading for their own beds and Audrey is making up the couch for herself.

After the light is turned off, Audrey thinks of the news broadcast and a shiver runs down her spine. He said he wasn't going to blow up Parliament this year and now she knows why.

"Stay safe, V," she whispers to the night, but she knows that V's idea of staying safe and hers do not coincide. "At least beh careful."

* * *

"V!" she shouts in fear.

She bolts off of the bench she's been sitting on and runs towards the masked man as he comes stumbling into the station. She catches him as he collapses, but his weight is too great for her to hold up, so all she can do is slow his fall. The blood that soaks his clothes and his ragged breathing has her in nearly a panic.

"Oh, God! We have to stop your bleeding," she nearly sobs, not knowing which hole to try and plug since there are so many of them.

"Oh please don't," he gasps, the punctured lungs making it hard to breathe. "I'm finished and glad of it."

"Don't say that," she begs, looking into the mask.

"I told you, only truth," he softly reminds her. "For twenty years I sought only this day. Nothing else existed...until I saw you. Then everything changed. I fell in love with you, Evey...like I no longer believed I could."

"V, I don't want you to die," she cries.

"That's the most beautiful thing you could have ever given me," he softly admits as his world starts to darken.

"V? V!?" she yells as his chest stills and she can no longer hold back her tears.

He feels his life slipping away from him and as his spirit slips from this earthly coil, he can hear a voice singing to him.

**Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me**

* * *

As they watch the train head down the tunnel, knowing full well what will happen when it reaches its destination, she slips her arm through his.

"Tell me...," she starts as she turns him to head towards the Shadow Gallery, "do you like music, Mr. Finch?"

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, a young woman sits on a stool on a stage in a smoky bar playing her guitar and singing a song she's composed and written. The song tells the story of a woman lost in despair until a mysterious stranger saves her one night and shows her how to be free again. She's completely unaware that sitting in the audience is a music producer who only came in to get directions to a nearby theater, but who has completely forgotten about what he came in for. Oblivious to everything else, all of her concentration is on her music and the freedom it gives her.

As the last notes fade away, Parliament is blown sky high with the man who inspired the song.


	35. Encore part 1

**Author's Notes:** Sorry this has taken so long to get out. It ran much longer than I expected it to, so it's now in two parts. Hopefully I'll be able to finish the second half soon and I'll finally be able to put this story to rest. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Discontentedly, he watches as she comes flouncing into the room with a watering can in her hand. She goes over to the window and waters Those Damn Roses. He stares at the cascade of honey colored curls that fall down her back and the pretty dress she's wearing for today, doing his best to ignore Those Damn Roses. How he hates Those Damn Roses, not that he'd ever say anything to her about it.

"Don't be like that, Eric," she instructs with a smile as she turns and looks at him.

"How should I be, Evey?" he grumbles as he takes another drink of his whiskey, ignoring the fact that the ice is mostly melted and has watered down his drink.

"We're going to a celebration," she replies as she puts down the watering can and then settles into his lap. "It'll be fun."

"We're going to a rock concert," he huffs.

"It's a musical extravaganza," she counters as her arms slide around his neck. "You told me when we first met that you like music."

"It's an all day long rock concert," he mutters. "And I never said a damn thing about me liking music. You just put your arm through mine and led me up to the roof so we could watch parliament get blown sky high. Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"V loved music," she quietly reminds him as she cuddles into his lap. "He died five years ago tonight to give this to us. Please don't be so grumpy. V wants us to be happy."

With a sigh, he puts down his drink and wraps his arms around her, holding her close.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, burying his nose in her lovely hair. "I didn't mean to upset you. We should get going soon."

"I know it's hard," she tells him, not moving from her seat. "I did love him, but he's gone and you're here now. I love you, Eric."

Before he can say anything, she sits up, takes his face in her hands and gently kisses him. His arms tighten around her and suddenly the roses seem quite pretty. As he loses himself in her buss, the smell of roses reaches him and maybe those roses aren't so bad after all.

* * *

"Have we got everything?" she asks as she checks the boot of the auto. "Food, water, jackets..."

"Earplugs," he grumbles.

"I've got them in my handbag," she replies with a grin.

"Then we've got everythin' but the animals," he tells her.

"Why don't you go get them while I see if I can still get in the car," she tells him with a smile.

"You sure this is a good idea?" he asks, worriedly looking at her huge belly.

"The baby isn't due for a few more weeks," she reminds him. "It'll be fine. Go get the boys."

With a resigned sigh, he heads back towards the house and sticks his head in the front door.

"Phil! Charlie! Let's go, you're aunt's waitin'!" he yells.

"Coming, Uncle Tim!" one of the twins hollers back and a second later the sound of thundering feet reaches him.

He heads back towards the car as quickly as he can and still the boys beat him there. By the time he gets behind the wheel, the twins are already buckled up and waiting to go.

"Did the front door lock get locked?" Tim asks.

"Yup!" Phil eagerly replies.

"And the back door, too," Charlie puts in, just as excited as his brother.

"Then we better get going," Tim states as he starts the car.

"Have you figured out who gave us the tickets, Aunt Ruth?" Phil questions again.

"I told you, I don't know who A. M. is," Ruth laughs.

"Pretty weird how those tickets came in the post after the music extravaganza had been sold out for weeks," Charlie states. "Who would sends us tickets? Especially prime tickets like that? And why?"

"Are you sure they're real?" Phil puts in.

"I took them to one of the ticket outlets and they said that they're real," she replies. "And I have no idea why someone would send us those tickets, much less who."

She closes her eyes and feigns sleep to stave off any more questions. She doesn't have the courage to tell them the truth. She probably wouldn't have figured it out herself if she hadn't found that old note that she hides in the bottom of her jewelery box and compared it to the note that came with the tickets. She hasn't told them that the woman that they used to call 'Mum' is alive and well and will more than likely be at the concert.

* * *

"Are you ok?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Can we go home now?" he growls as he tries to get his internal organs to stop vibrating even though the last group of noise makers calling itself a band left half an hour ago.

"There's just Freedom's Flight and then we can go home," she tells him as she takes his hand.

"Do we have to?" he grumbles and she can't help but chuckle.

"They were the first group to accept the open invitation that England sent out," she reminds him. "Besides, I like the name of the group, I love the fact that their lead singer is named Liberty and _'Shadows to a Song'_ is my absolute favorite song. It reminds me of my time with V."

Before he can respond, the lights dim and he quickly makes sure his earplugs are back in place as the first notes of a single guitar wafts through the speakers. As the spotlight slowly comes up, they can see a lone woman sitting on a tall stool in the middle of the stage playing the guitar. Her bright red hair falls down to the middle of her back and her bright green eyes glance up into the box Evey and Eric are sitting in. He gets the feeling he's seen her somewhere before, but as he's trying to figure it out, she finally opens her mouth to sing.

_**A million stars light  
This beautiful night  
This is not a night to die  
Let me sing and dance  
Beneath the sky  
I have such love to give  
To give!  
I want a chance to live  
Live  
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
Give  
Asking nothing in return  
Free  
Free to find my way  
Free to have my say  
Free to see the day **_

_**Be  
Like I used to be  
Like a wild bird free  
With all of life in me  
Live  
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
Give  
Asking nothing in return  
Though this world tears us apart  
We're still together in my heart  
****I want the world to hear my cry  
And even if I have to die  
Love will not die  
Love will change the world  
Live  
For the one I love  
Love  
As no one has loved  
****Give  
Asking nothing in return  
I'll love until love wears me away  
****I'll die and I know my love will stay  
And I know my love will stay**_

As the last notes fade away, thunderous applause shakes the theater. Liberty grins as she places the guitar in a stand next to the stool and then stands up. She takes the mike from the stand and walks to the edge of the stage.

"Good evenin' London," Liberty calls out in an unmistakable southern drawl and there's more yelling and clapping. "Ah can't tell ya how much it means for meh ta beh here tonight. It just warms my heart."

There's more cheering and then she looks back at the control booth, shielding her eyes against the bright spotlight.

"Can ya'll bring up tha house lights, please?" she requests and several seconds later the theater brightens. "Oh, there ya'll are! Thank ya! My goodness, look at ya'll. Ya'll stuck it out this long ta see meh?"

There's even more yelling, whistling, clapping and stomping and she places her hand over her heart. She nearly looks like she's about to cry from the shear joy of their response. He glances over at Evey and sees she's clapping along with everyone else. He can't help but smile at her obvious joy.

"Thank ya, ya'll are just so sweet," Liberty continues once the noise settles down to a reasonable level as she walks across the stage closer to Eric and Evey's box. "Ah guess Ah better go an' say 'hello' ta all tha people who made this thang possible and have endured through this whole thang."

People chuckle as she gives a big wave at the boxes nearest the stage and he sees Evey plaster a smile on her face as people turn to look at them. He gratefully leans back into the shadows, knowing that no one is interested in him and he absently notes that the rest of the band is now coming out on stage to take their places at their instruments. He listens with half an ear as this Southern Belle greets and names all of the dignitaries in the surrounding boxes, impressed that she's getting them all right. When she gets to their box, he leans back further to let Evey shine.

"Why as Ah live an' breathe, Chief Inspector Finch is that ya'll hidin' behind Miss Hammond?" Liberty suddenly asks, shocking him.

"Yes it is!" Evey gleefully shouts back as she grabs his arm and hauls him forward.

"Have ya'll been hidin' back there all this time?" Liberty questions, highly amused by the surprised look on Eric's face.

"Yes!" Evey yells back, keeping a death grip on him so he can't sink out of sight.

"Oh, Chief Inspector, ya'll shouldn't beh doin' that," Liberty gently admonishes with a thousand watt grin. "Ya'll are just as important as anyone else here. Ya were given an impossible task ta find that man an' Ah theenk everyone here is mighty glad ya didn't. After all, where would we all beh if V had failed?"

There's a lot of cheering from the crowd and he looks down at the mass of people below him and he's surprised that a lot of people are clapping.

"Who knew that being a failure could be popular?" he grumbles and Evey just smiles at him.

"Well, Ah doubt ya'll came out here ta just listen ta meh yammer on, so what's say we get this show started?" Liberty asks the crowd and the noise goes up exponentially with people screaming their approval and the woman on stage looks back over at him. "Better make sure ya're earplugs are in good an' tight, Chief Inspector, it's gonna get mighty loud in here."

She turns towards the back of the stage and points at the drummer who counts off the beat just before the music starts with a deafening bang. Eric watches and, despite the earplugs, listens as Freedom's Flight entertains the crowd. While he does admit the woman can sing, unlike some of the earlier acts that he's endured through, he gets the strange feeling that he's seen this woman before.

He frowns as he tries to figure out how he could possibly know this woman and it's not until Evey's hand slips into his that he's shocked out of his ruminations. He listens to the song that tells the story of a woman lost, a slave to her despair, until a mysterious stranger saves her one night and shows her how to be free again. As soon as the song ends, there's more thunderous applause and he watches as Liberty bows to the audience.

He can see people starting to get up and head for the exit, including a family with twin teenage boys and a mother who's very pregnant. Some memory niggles the back of his mind that he should know these people too, but he can't figure out why.

_**If I should stay**_

(The twin boys stop dead in their tracks and spin around towards the stage.)****

**_I would only be in your way _**(The band that had been leaving the stage suddenly comes dashing back out, quickly retaking their places.) __

_**So I'll go, But I know I'll think of you every step of the way **_

(As one, the boys rush towards the stage, pushing people out of their way to get there, only to be stopped several feet short of their goal by security and the barrier set there.)

**_And I will always love you _**

(Eric could swear that Liberty is now singing to the boys plastered to the barrier.)

_**I will always love you You, my darlings you, Mmmmmmm **_

(He glances back at the parents and sees the husband holding up his openly weeping wife, not caring that they're blocking half the aisle.) ****

**_Bittersweet memories _**

**_That is all I'm taking with me _**

**_So goodbye, _**

**_Please don't cry _**

**_We all know, _**

**_I'm not what you, you need _**

**_And I will always love you _**

**_I will always love you. _**

**_I hope life treats you kind _**

**_And I hope you have all you dreamed of _**

**_And I wish you joy and happiness _**

**_But above all this I wish you love. _**

**_And I will always love you _**

**_I will always love you _**

**_I will always love you _**

**_I will always love you _**

**_I will always love you _**

**_I…I will always love you…you Darlings, _**

**_I love you I'll always… I'll always love you_**

Liberty blows a kiss and gives a wave to the cheering crowd before giving a final wave and smile to the twins. Then she turns and rushes off of the stage and he's not entirely sure, but Eric swears he sees a look of anguish on her face.

After the crowd has been given a chance to thin out, they get up and leave. So lost in his own thoughts, he doesn't notice that Evey has been silent until they're driving towards home.

"I want to go to the Gallery," she suddenly states, shocking him out of his thoughts. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want, but I just need...I need to be there at midnight. I want to watch the fireworks when they go off from the roof top."

"It's ok, I'll go with you," he quietly replies as he makes a turn that will take them towards Victoria Station.

It takes them a good hour to get to the defunct station and down into the tubes. Once there, it's only a matter of minutes before they're entering the silent and dark Shadow Gallery. It takes her only a moment to get the lights on and then they step into the silent shrine of the masked vigilante that gave his life so that England could be free once more. With all of the precious artwork still down here, Evey insists on keeping the place at a constant temperature which means they're not freezing their noses off for which he's very glad as they remove their outer clothing and hang it on the coat rack.

The Gallery hasn't changed much since the first time Eric saw it five years ago this night, though a few of the pieces of art have been returned to the people as V had wished. Most of the work that has been returned was in the back storage area and he's actually once more thankful that the man had the foresight to catalog all of the work he had collected. He follows Evey as she heads towards the storage area again and he knows why she's heading there.

She flips the switch to turn on the overhead lights, illuminating the now nearly empty room. Except for a few statues and couple pieces of rather sizable paintings, most of the art that had been stored here have gone to museums. But he knows it's not the artwork that draws Evey to this room, but the box on the desk that was found a little over a month ago hidden in the far corner of this room under a tarp.

It's not a large box. It's about the size of a bread box, made of wood with brass straps holding it together. Truth be told, it looks like a small pirate's chest, though the lock on it is totally out of place. The lock is digital with a four digit code and engraved on the lid is the only clue to the combination.

"'The day we met'," Evey grumbles, staring down at the box. "I've tried every combination of November fourth, November fifth and I've even tried the year V and I met, but still nothing!"

"You could try breaking the lock," he suggests again and then suddenly he looks back over his shoulder. "Did you hear something?"

"It's probably the heater kicking in or the water rattling the pipes," she replies as she sits down in the computer chair so she can glare at the lock. "Knowing V, if we break the lock, it'll probably explode."

"I swear I hear music," he mutters as he starts to turn around.

"Eric, please," she snaps a bit peevishly. "V kept logs of everything he did starting with him waking up in Larkhill, yet some of the books from just before I met him are missing. I bet they're in this damn box."

"Then break open the box," he replies. "I bet a good crowbar would do the trick."

"If it didn't blow up, then it probably would do something to destroy the contents," she huffs in frustration. "He said no more locks, but here this stupid thing is."

"Did you try eleven-zero-four for the code?" he asks.

"I've tried that, eleven-zero-five, zero-four-eleven and zero-five-eleven," she heatedly points out. "I told you that already!"

"Have ya'll tried April eighth?" a new voice asks.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it, I don't own it.


	36. Encore part 2

**Author's Notes I:** Well, at long last, the end of the story is here. I'm sorry for the delay, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for reading and even bigger thank you to all of my reviewers. Enjoy.

* * *

Both Eric and Evey nearly jump right out of their skins as they spin around and face the new person. She's leaning against the door jamb watching them with an amused smile on her lips and her eyes are dancing with mirth. Her long red hair is pulled back into a ponytail now and she's wearing worn jeans, a turtle neck sweater and hiking boots, the country-western ensemble from earlier long gone.

"Liberty?" Evey finally asks from her spot still in the chair.

"Ta most people, Ah'm called that," Liberty replies with a sigh. "Though it's not tha first time Ah've had an alias."

"Who are you?" Eric demands, eyes narrowed at this woman.

"Am Ah that forgettable, Chief Inspector?" Liberty sadly inquires, the sadness evident in her eyes.

"We've met before?" he questions as he steps closer to her. "And I'm not Chief Inspector any more. That's Dominic Stone's job now."

"Ah saw Detective Stone at tha concert," she continues conversationally. "Tha poor man was sittin' all by his li'l lonesome. But Ah do have ta wonder how many Southern Belles ya'll have met o'er tha past several years."

"How did you find this place?" Evey demands, finally coming to her feet.

"Ah saw ya'll come down through Victoria Station," she answers. "Ah'd been tryin' ta remember where V had hidden tha Gallery. He never took meh out o' Victoria Station, but Ah knew that it would beh near one that started with a 'V'. Tha man was absolutely obsessed with that letter."

"How did you know V?" Evey grills as she steps past a rather confused Eric.

"Ya mean ya'll haven't figured it out?" Liberty counters. "Ah guess 'Shadows ta a Song' never made a connection with ya then."

"Of course it did," Evey shoots back. "It practically describes the year I knew him. But how the hell did you know him?"

"An it describes the six months that Ah knew 'im," Liberty softly replies and she turns those green eyes back on Eric. "Well, Chief Inspector, have ya'll figured it out yet?"

"The missing logs are from before V blew up the Old Bailey and you mentioned a date nearly seven months before then," Eric whispers and her gaze becomes quite intense. "There was a case I was working on...a murder...and a kidnapping..."

She watches him expectantly, pushing herself away from the wall with a fluid ease that belies the tension in her body.

"Bloody Hell!" he suddenly shouts and that thousand watt smile from earlier in the evening is back on her face. "AUDREY! AUDREY MEADOWS!"

"How are ya, Chief Inspector?" she asks with a laugh in her voice.

"You made it back to North America safely," he states with obvious joy as he steps up to her and grips her upper arms in his hands. "But how did you know V?"

She just grins at him, trying to hold back her laughter and his cringes as it finally hits him.

"The Man was V," he groans as he drops his his chin to his chest, his hands finally dropping down to his sides. "That cheeky bastard, he was leading me on a bloody merry chase well before he blew up the Old Bailey. If he was here, I swear I'd shoot him."

"He's really gone, isn't he?" Audrey softly asks, turning her attention to Evey now, her eyes begging the other woman to let it not be true.

"I gave him his Viking funeral myself," Evey sadly replies.

"Damn," Audrey quietly swears. "Ah had hoped ta thank 'im properly."

"But how did you come to live with him?" Evey repeats.

"Mr. Finch could tell ya, but Ah imagine tha answer ta that is also in that box," Audrey states as points to the small chest on the desk.

Audrey walks past the other two and calmly plugs in zero-eight-zero-four. With a beep and a click, the lock opens without a problem. She completely removes the lock and carefully opens the box to reveal the missing logs and an envelope with Audrey's name on it.

"An' here is ya'lls answer," Audrey states as she moves the envelope out of the way and lifts the first leather bound journal out of the box, flipping to April eighth.

Evey takes the journal and starts to read with Eric reading right over her shoulder. Several minutes later they finish reading the entry and then look over at the red haired woman. She's sitting in the computer chair and reading what appears to be a letter, the now open envelope sitting on the desk next to the box.

"He knew he was gonna die, didn't he?" Audrey quietly questions, though it's more of a statement.

"Yes, he knew," Evey confirms.

"Damn infuriatin' man," Audrey grumbles.

"Tell me about it," Evey scoffs and the two women look at each other and both smile.

"That last song you sang," Eric says after a few moments of silence as he gives Audrey a speculative look. "It was the same one you sent the twins before you went back to North America wasn't it?"

"It was," Audrey confirms, a sad smile on her lips. "Ah had ta see tha boys again, even if it was from a distance."

"You think they'll ever figure it out?" he asks.

"Maybe," Audrey answers with a sigh. "A lot depends on what their aunt is willin' ta tell 'em. V may have given meh an' England our freedom, but he left those boys orphans. Ah sometimes wonder how they would feel about their new national hero if they knew."

"Come on, I'll put the kettle on and you can tell me about your time with Code Name V," Evey says as she turns towards the door. "And at midnight, you can join us on the roof to watch the fireworks."

"Sounds wonderful," Audrey replies with a smile while she stands and follows the other woman.

With a bemused look on his face, Eric trails along behind the women as they start to chat like a couple of long lost friends. They continue on, barely noticing that the jukebox is playing softly in the background.

* * *

It's nearing day break when she finally comes stumbling back into her hotel room, exhausted, but happy.

"Did you find it?" a voice growls from behind her as she carefully sets the box down before she shrugs her coat off and lets it fall to the floor.

"Yes," she softly answers as she sits on the edge of the bed and starts trying to take her boots off.

"Well?" he nearly snarls as he gets down on his knees in front of her to get the job done for her.

"He added a few things since tha last time Ah was there, but fo' tha most part, it was tha same," she tells him, her exhaustion evident, though she has a contented look on her face. "Most o' tha artwork in tha storage room was gone, but that's how it should o' been."

"I've been worried sick about you," he grumbles as the last shoe is tossed off to the side and he lays his head in her lap.

"Ah'm sorry," she replies as she tiredly strokes his hair. "It was somethin' Ah had ta do on my own."

"I know, love, but it wasn't easy watching you go without me," he sighs while his arms circle her waist.

"When did Ah become 'love'?" she asks after a few moments, still combing her fingers through his hair. "Ah used ta beh a whole lot o' words, but 'love' wasn't one o' 'em. Useless...annoyin'...bitch...When did that change?"

"When you showed up on my parents front door step nearly four years ago to make sure that my sister was alright," he tells her, sitting back on his heels to look up at her. "You absolutely floored me when you walked in the door."

"Ah don't know who was more surprised, ya'll or meh," she admits as she reaches out and strokes his cheek. "Ah sure as heck wasn't suspectin' ya ta beh there."

"You know that since that trip I haven't set foot one on another fishing boat," he states.

"Ah know that now, but not then," she reminds him as she reaches up to remove the band holding her hair back.

"Did you go see the boys?" he asks as he reaches up to comb his fingers through her freed hair. "Besides at the concert."

"No, Ah couldn't do it," she quietly admits. "It would've been too hard ta explain what Ah was doin' there an' Ah know if Ah got my arms around 'em, Ah would have never let 'em go. They're Ruby an' Tim's now. Ah never had a right ta 'em anyways."

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers, giving her a gentle kiss. "I know they meant a lot to you."

"Sean?" she softly asks as the sun starts to peek over the horizon.

"Yes, love," he quietly answers.

"Give meh a li'l un o' my own," she requests, her eyes pleading. "Give meh one that no one but God Himself can take away."

"You just made my parents very happy people," he chuckles as he moves even closer. "But what about your career?"

"It'll beh there when Ah'm ready ta go back," she tells him. "An' if it isn't, then Ah can just sell tha songs Ah write. Besides, Ah've been investin' tha money Ah've earned just in case. Please, Sean."

"On one condition," he responds as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulls something out and holds the small gold band up for her to see. "This never comes off again."

"Agreed," she readily agrees as she holds her left hand out to him.

Without another word, he slides the ring that he only gave her three days before onto her ring finger and then spends the next couple hours making her forget her training.

* * *

She's in a dark place, but off in the distance she sees a light. She quickly heads towards the only source of illumination in the tunnel she's traveling. As she gets closer to her goal, she can faintly see the walls around her and they seem familiar somehow. When she gets to the end of the tunnel, she realizes where she is and isn't in the least bit surprised to see the door to the Shadow Gallery standing slightly ajar.

What has her a bit disconcerted is the fact that she knows she shouldn't be here. Her last memory was lying down in her bed to go to sleep in Canada. She's not sure how she got back to England, but curiosity gets the better of her and she pushes the door open.

It's just as she remembered it from so long ago. She softly shuts the door behind her and wanders further into V's home. The first place she stops is the jukebox and she gently runs her fingers over the buttons before pushing the three that will bring up her parent's song.

"Hello, Audrey," a familiar voice greets as the song begins to play

"Hello, V," she calmly replies as she turns to face the dark figure behind her. "How ya'll doin'?"

"I'm doing rather well, thank you," he answers. "And you?"

"Ah'm doin' very well, thank ya," she responds with a smile as she brushes her long red hair back over her shoulder, refusing to notice how her hand is no longer old and withered looking or her joints no longer ache with arthritis.

"So tell me, what have you been doing since you left?" he asks while he indicates they should move further into his home.

"Oh, Ah've been doin' lots o' things," she says happily as they make their way towards the couch.

Once they're seated, she gladly tells him of her adventure getting back to North America and the unexpected but very pleasant surprise of finding her family. Then she tells him about adjusting to life as a free person with no children to care for. Finally, she tells him of her career as a singer, of the concert in London, the last concert she ever gave, and her last trip to the Shadow Gallery.

"After Ah saw tha boys, Ah just knew it was time ta start my own family," she admits with a sad smile. "Ah was already married, so findin' a father wasn't gonna beh a problem. Ten years after tha concert, Ah had three beautiful children an' a career writin' songs fo' other singers. Then Ah got tha biggest surprise Ah ever did have."

"And what was that?" he asks.

"Tha twins found meh," she answers, tears welling up in her eyes. "Ah was so sure Ah'd never see 'em again, but one day, they just showed up on my front door step."

"How did they find you?" he inquires with that all too familiar head tilt.

"Tha song Ah sent ta 'em an' than sang at tha concert was their biggest clue," she replies with a guilty grin. "After they compared pictures o' meh when Ah was pretendin' ta beh their mum an' o' meh from my public pictures, plus what their aunt told 'em what little she knew, they came lookin' fo' answers. Ah couldn't deny 'em tha right ta know tha truth. Ah showed 'em tha journals ya left meh."

"How did they feel once the knew the truth?" he questions, leaning back into his seat.

"It was a shock fo' 'em," she responds. "They left that night an' Ah didn't theenk Ah'd ever see 'em again, but tha next day they were back. They had talked about it at their hotel an' decided that even though Ah didn't give birth ta 'em, Ah was still their Mum."

He has to chuckle at the rather smug look on her face.

"So, what have ya'll been doin' since Ah left?" she asks.

"I've been keeping busy," he answers.

"Ya blew up parliament an' tha Old Bailey an' had Suttler and Creedy jumpin' at their own shadows," she points out.

"I did at that," he replies a bit proudly and with a fair amount of amusement coloring his voice.

"But that was years ago."

"These days I mostly help certain people find their way. Special people."

"Am Ah a 'special people'?"

"Yes."

"Is that why Ah'm here?" she softly inquires. "So ya can help meh find my way."

"Yes," he quietly responds, his face dipping down in remorse.

"Then this isn't a dream," she sadly sighs.

"No, I'm afraid not," he says.

"It was a good life," she tells him proudly, her chin coming up defiantly. "Ah know those years as a slave were no picnic, but Ah had tha love o' the twins ta help meh through those dark days. An' when it was o'er, Ah had my family an' my music. It was a good life."

"I am not the one you need to convince," he replies as he comes to his feet with graceful ease and holds out his hand to her.

"Then who do Ah have ta convince?" she questions while she slides her hand into his and allows him to help her to her feet.

"Only yourself," he answers as he turns, tucks her hand into his arm and then starts to lead her through the Gallery.

"It was a good life," she repeats, looking up into the mask she never thought she'd see again. "Thank ya, V."

"You are most welcome, Audrey," he responds.

Without another word, they make their way towards eternity as the music plays on.

_Unforgettable in every way  
And forever more, that's how you'll stay..._

_**Fini**_

**A/N II: **So why did I write this story? I needed to justify to myself why a man who had been living alone for nearly 20 years had a spare bedroom. Pretty crazy I know, but my mind is a very strange place.


End file.
